


Mags' War, Part 8

by thankyoufinnick (mildred_of_midgard)



Series: Mags-verse [9]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assisted Suicide, Chronic Pain, Depression, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 23:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildred_of_midgard/pseuds/thankyoufinnick
Summary: "This is the way the world endsNot with a bang but a whimper."Finnick's story winds to a close.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary quote from TS Eliot's "The Hollow Men." You have been warned.

Cashmere's kneeling in the dirt, planting bulbs. She's wearing her gardening shorts, and a yellow tank top that she only gets to wear a few days a year. The warm humidity is oppressive today, and Cashmere won't mind when the heavy grey sky breaks out into the rain it's been threatening all afternoon.

She sets down her trowel and wipes her forehead with the back of her forearm, leaving a tangible streak of dirt on her face. Cashmere laughs. Gardening's a filthy habit, and she loves it.

Then she measures out the distance and starts on the next hole. She's hoping for a good crop of tulips next spring. Then she might put in a vegetable garden.

"Look, it's a honeybee! It's yellow and black, and surrounded by flowers."

The voice, warm and laughing, spills over Cashmere from behind. She turns around to see a grinning Finnick standing on the walkway, his arms held out.

With a gasp, she flies to him, trampling flowers in her way and leaping over the low fence.

They cling to each other, laughing and crying. Through Cashmere's joy, words spill out like a river. At first, all she can babble is, "You're alive, you're alive, you're alive!" Then, "There's so much to tell you—you have to see the kids!"

Cashmere pulls away and seizes him by the hand. She takes him to the baby carriage next to the flowerbed. "This is Evan."

"Oh my god," Finnick exclaims, "it's a baby honeybee! That's too cute to be true."

Laughing, and pleased by his delight, Cashmere reaches in to pass him Evan. He looks awkward, and she has to show him how to hold a baby, but he's game for trying, and she loves him for it.

"Maggie's having her afternoon nap. I leave the windows and curtains open so I can see or hear if she needs anything, but you can see she's sleeping right now."

Finnick peers into the window with her. It's just possible, inside the dim bedroom, to make out the shape of a child in the bed. That's all Cashmere needs to know that she's safe and well.

"Maggie, and Evan did you say? Did you get to name any kids?"

"Oh-" Cashmere's excitement wanes slightly while her heart clenches. "Annie offered, but I didn't want to. It would hurt too much to name him after Gloss, and naming the kids meant the world to Annie. She said she needed the closure for Evan, really needed it to be able to move on."

Shifting baby Evan to one arm held close against his chest, Finnick slides his other arm around Cashmere. He knows—he still knows—when she needs to be held.

"And 'Maggie,'" Cashmere continues, more cheerfully, "is a common name here, and 'Mags' really isn't. Plus it sounds a bit like 'Annie.' So 'Maggie' it is."

"Two wonderful choices," Finnick tells her. He sets Evan down in the carriage, and Cashmere hands the boy back his sippy cup and stuffed frog. "So Annie's not home?"

"No, she's at work. She's so smart, you wouldn't believe it. She's an electrician now, certified and everything!"

"I believe it." Finnick sounds as proud as Cashmere feels. "And you?"

Cashmere pulls a deep breath into her lungs, braces herself, and talks as fast as she can. "Annie and I got married but I swear I'm not trying to come between you and it was only because we thought you were dead and I promise everything can go back to the way it was!"

Finnick laughs. "Oh, sweetheart. I believe you." He looks around for a place to sit down. Cashmere slides her arm in his and leads him over to a bench where she can keep an eye on Evan.

"Annie made this bench," she says as they sit down. She's not trying to change the subject, but there's just so much to tell. "She made the whole house the way it is. You should have seen it before."

"You're both amazing." With only a little hesitation before they're sure nothing's changed, they wrap their arms around each other and snuggle close on the bench. "So Annie's at work, you're home with the kids, and you got married?"

Cashmere nods. "Are you mad? We didn't forget about you. We waited and waited, but there was no word."

"How could I be mad? I just want to know that everything's all right. Are you safe? Are you happy? This place has been good to you?"

More than his words, Cashmere listens to his body language, and it's the same as always. Hands moving over her face and hair, arm tight around her waist, chin nestling on her shoulder...it's just like old times.

It's feeling more and more like Annie was right, and he knows they never meant to shut him out. So she takes another deep breath and answers his words.

"I wish you could have come here with us. Finnick—you were right. I came for the wrong reasons, just because it was what you thought was best. I guess also because I couldn't let Annie do it alone. But you were right, I was better off here too."

"You seem better," Finnick says, his chin on her shoulder while he nuzzles her hair. "Your whole body, the way you hold yourself, it's all so much happier and more confident."

Slowly as ever, Cashmere lets herself relax into having her body language read and believing that she hasn't gotten everything wrong. "I got some of the medical help Annie was getting. And none of it would have been possible without you." She tightens her arms around him as hard as she can, trying to show what she doesn't have the words for.

"I'm glad, angel, I can't tell you how glad I am. What about the kids? Did you each have one, or are they adopted?"

"Yes, adopted." She sits up straighter, and her hands start to fly in excitement as she talks. "Both from Panem. We thought about having kids ourselves, but there are so many refugees, and people were kind enough to take us in when we were refugees...it just made sense to us. Evan's from District Six. Maggie we don't know. Evan's mother died giving birth on a ship. Someone nursed him, and his eight-year-old sister carried him through immigration. The girl got adopted by someone who didn't want a baby, and we did, so we took him. We live in different cities, but we're in touch with the family who took his sister, so she and Evan can know each other when they get older, if they want. We adopted Evan six months ago. We think he's about a year old.

"Maggie's probably three. She appeared in a refugee group a year ago. No one knew who she was or where she came from. She must have gotten separated from her parents, or they died, we don't know. Someone in the group kept an eye on her and kept her fed until they were here, but they didn't want to keep her. If she knew her name, it was something the authorities here didn't recognize as a name. So she came to us as a blank. She still has nightmares, and she sleeps in the bed with us a lot, but she's been here for a year, and she's blossoming."

Catching her breath, Cashmere laughs. "Sorry, I'm rambling! I could talk about the kids all day."

Finnick laughs with her. "Ramble away, sugar. Nothing can make me happier than hearing how good this place has been to you two." When she hesitates, he insists, "It's the only thing that could make letting you go worth it."

"But I want to hear about you-"

"Let's wait until Annie gets home," Finnick suggests. "Then I can tell you both."

"Oh, okay." 

She still looks questioningly at him, but when he nods encouragingly and prompts, "I can't imagine better parents than you two," she gives into temptation. 

"Annie said she thought she could do better than her aunt with adopted children. And I...I didn't know you could have children sleep with you when they're scared. I thought you had to let them cry it out. I used to hold Gloss at night when we were both kids, but we weren't allowed to talk, and then when we were older, I was afraid I was responsible for his behavioral problems. I was never allowed to comfort any of the kids I saw crying when I was teaching at the academy. But then, I thought Gloss had behavioral problems. Actually, he was just talking and asking questions. We didn't have behavioral problems as kids; we had psychological problems as adults. Believe me, it took me a long time and a lot of help to understand that."

"But you're doing better?" Finnick asks. "And I take it Annie is too, if she's at work now?"

"Better, yes," she tells him. "We both still have our scars. Annie can go out alone now, but she can't drive, so I drop her off and pick her up. And she tells me I still second-guess myself too much. She's the one who keeps reassuring me and insisting that I'm not always wrong."

"You take care of each other," he says warmly. "It would have been almost impossible for me to let either of you go if I didn't know you had each other. Tell me about how you two made the house, then. And the garden. It looks gorgeous."

On and on, Cashmere recounts her adventures with Annie, glowing with pride and happiness as she snuggles with him. Only the sound of a ringing phone through the open window jolts her out of her euphoria to realize how low the sun has sunk. 

"Oh, no, it's Annie! I'm late, and the kids aren't ready—oh, no, is Maggie still asleep? I was supposed to wake her up an hour ago."

Cashmere exclaims all this while scooping up a startled Evan and running into the house to snatch at the phone. "No, no, everything's fine, I'm so sorry, I'm on my way, it won't happen again!"

Dropping the phone and spinning around, Cashmere looks at herself in dismay. "I'm covered in dirt, I've tracked it in through the house—Maggie's not going to like being woken up-" Annie's _counting_ on her, and it's not even like this is hard, but she's still letting everyone down...

Smiling, Finnick reaches out for Evan. "Want me to watch them while you pick up Annie?"

Cashmere hesitates. "Can you?"

"I can keep them alive till you get back." He takes the baby in his arms. "How far is it?"

"Just twenty minutes each way," she tells him, fretfully trying to decide if it will work.

"It'll be fine. We can surprise Annie when she gets here." Finnick looks sure, and Cashmere lets herself sag in relief.

"Oh, thank you, that would help. Annie gets anxious when things don't go according to plan. But I have to wake up Maggie. I'm not letting her wake up to find herself alone with a stranger in the house, I'm just not doing it. And if she throws a fit, I'll take her with me even if it takes longer."

Maggie's friendly and outgoing, though, and if Mummy says Finnick is a friend, then Finnick is a friend. Evan's more suspicious and starts fussing when Cashmere turns to go, but Finnick's calm and confident. "He'll be fine. You'll be back soon."

"He's safe," Cashmere finally decides, and then she's gone, flying out the door.

Annie, as Cashmere expected, is tense when she arrives. "I'm not mad," Annie says hurriedly as she slides in and buckles her seat belt, "just couldn't stop imagining one of the kids sick or hurt or worse-"

"No, no, everything's fine," Cashmere promises. "I was gardening, and I lost track of time. The kids were so quiet, Maggie kept sleeping, nobody was yelling or crying or running around to make me pay attention!"

"Are you sure they're okay?" But Annie's smiling, and Cashmere starts to speak a little less frantically.

"I know, right? But no, Maggie was up half the night. I'm sorry I let her oversleep. She needs to learn to sleep at night."

"No, it's all right. We're not so hard on kids here."

"I know." Cashmere sighs. She still needs this reminder from time to time. "And Evan had his apple juice and Mister Ribbit, and he must have been comfortable. I got someone to watch them for half an hour, thought it was faster and less disruptive than trying to rush them into the car to come get you."

"It's fine, love, as long as everyone's okay."

"I'm sorry. Everyone is fine."

Cashmere's still squirming with guilt at what she put Annie through and trying to quell her impatience and keep a straight face without going completely flat, and so she startles when Annie interrupts her under-the-breath mantra to reach out and touch Cashmere's elbow.

"Did something happen to make you lose track of time? You just look so excited, but...serene, somehow."

"Annie!" Cashmere glances for a split second over at the passenger seat. "I thought you didn't like talking in the car."

"I had time to imagine everything that could have happened," Annie explains. "But now I think it was something good. Did Evan take his first steps?"

"No!" But Cashmere can't keep the corners of her mouth quite straight, and Annie's gotten into the game.

"Did he start talking all of a sudden? Is he going to surprise me when I walk in the door?"

"No. Sorry." Silently, she curses the traffic light. _Change!_

"Did you hear from Finnick?" When Cashmere hesitates, Annie leans all the way forward and twists to the side to get a good look at her face. "Cashmere, _who's watching the kids?_ "

"He wanted to surprise you!" Cashmere surrenders. "Is this a good enough excuse for being late?"

"It's the best excuse. Drive faster."

As fast as she can drive is far too slow in this traffic, but finally Cashmere's bolting into the house, with Annie on her heels. They find Maggie sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of junk food, and Evan in his high chair, getting mushed peas spooned into his mouth.

Finnick grins at them when they stop in the doorway, staring. "Maggie told me this was Evan's chair, and Evan's food, and that I needed to give it to him to make him stop crying. She also told me this food over here was hers. I'm not sure I should believe her about _all_ the cookies and _all_ the pudding, but her name is Maggie, which means I just do what she says."

Annie doubles over with laughter. "I knew it! I knew it."

"I can't keep secrets from Annie!" Cashmere explains and apologizes. "She said I was too excited."

"You're still the most observant person I know, Annie." Finnick chuckles. Then he gestures toward Maggie and winks at Annie. "I didn't think I'd get in trouble for letting her steal dessert."

"Oh, dear," Cashmere says, coming up on the Evan-Finnick duo. Bad enough that she left Annie stranded on the sidewalk waiting for her ride after work; now she's not even being a good housekeeper. "Annie, I promise, I'll clean the dirt on the floor and in the car, and I'll get Evan into a clean change of clothes, and I'll do the laundry, and first I'll take a shower before I touch anything else." She wiped her hands on her shorts earlier, but she's wearing so many streaks of black that she's afraid to sit down anywhere.

"Cashmere, relax. I declare today a family party. We'll make a big mess and have lots of dessert to celebrate." Annie comes to stand beside Finnick and takes a good look at Evan. "Maggie may have left out a step. You're supposed to put a bib on him for the messy bits to fall on."

"Well," Finnick says unflappably, "I'm sure even Mags missed a step now and again when she was three. You have a strategist in the making here. Do I get a hug?"

"When he's done eating. You started this, you finish it." Belying her words, Annie wraps her arms around Finnick from behind, pressing her cheek to his back. Cashmere feels herself growing dizzy when Annie's hand meets his body. Hastily she pulls out a chair from the table and sinks into it. She wants to join them, but she knows she should give them a few minutes together first. "We got married," Annie tells him.

"I heard. Did you have a nice wedding?"

"Not a big one, but I made a cheesecake, and Cashmere picked out a bunch of flowers, and we tried really hard not to think about everyone who wasn't there."

"I'm glad you're here." Cashmere's voice wavers with tearful joy.

"Me too!" pipes up a chocolate-smeared Maggie, grabbing another cookie before Cashmere realizes she should confiscate the bag.

Laughter fills the house.

* * *

To celebrate, Annie defrosts the frozen pork she's been saving for a special occasion, and bakes it with apples. The rye bread is from the bakery, because she doesn't have the time or energy to cook everything from scratch the way she did in the Victors' Village.

_This is better._

While Annie's getting the serving platters onto the table, Cashmere has Maggie counting out the plates for everyone. She takes a lot of pride in helping to set the table.

"She was a bit delayed for her age when we adopted her," Annie tells Finnick, "but she caught right up once she had a stable home."

"I'm adopted 'cause I'm the favorite!" Maggie tells Finnick excitedly, catching the word that's important to her.

Annie smiles. "That's what we've started telling her. We adopted Maggie because she was our favorite girl, and Evan because he was our favorite boy. I don't want Maggie not looking like the rest of us to be something that can be used to hurt her, especially when she gets older."

After a year, Annie's so used to Maggie's inky black skin and hair that it jolts her to remember that to outsiders, she looks like she doesn't belong. To Annie, she doesn't look different, she just looks like—Maggie. Cashmere burning in the sun instead of tanning is what's weird.

Finnick gives Maggie his full attention. "You know what? I was adopted too."

Maggie's eyes go wide. "Really? Because you were the favorite?"

"Exactly. And you know what her name was, the woman who adopted me?" When Maggie shakes her head earnestly, Finnick answers, "Mags."

Maggie's jaw drops. "That's like my name!"

"I know!"

Finnick laughs when Maggie throws her arms around his legs for a hug, and he ruffles her hair.

"You two look like you're hitting it off," Annie laughs. "Come on, everyone sit down, it's time to eat. Maggie, you can sit next to Evan if you promise not to throw food back at him. He's a baby. You're a big girl."

"Well, I gave her my dessert," Finnick says, taking his seat with a grin, "and told her I was adopted, so we're best friends now."

Finnick pulls out the chair next to Evan's high chair, and Maggie pops up into it. Once Evan came along, Maggie insisted she was too big for the high chair. It saved the cost of another one, and she is just tall enough, so they let her try it. It's been working out, except when she and Evan are behaving like a three-year-old and a one-year-old.

Evan's not ready to use a spoon yet, so Cashmere feeds him on his own meal schedule, but at dinner he gets to sit with the family and practice his motor skills on small pieces of food. Some goes in his stomach, some ends up all over the place, but Annie's just excited that he can feed himself with his hands now. The mess is worth it. She sets some bits of peach in front of him and sits down next to him, keeping a close eye on him. Cashmere's on the other side of Maggie, and Finnick's between Annie and Cashmere.

Cashmere is glowing with happiness. Saying nothing, just reaching out and touching Finnick from time to time, to remind herself that he's there, and radiating joy. Annie doesn't need words to know exactly what's going through her mind right now: the three-way marriage revived, and the two luckiest kids in the world.

Annie would love to believe it, and she tells herself that the chill in her stomach is unfair. That's her anxiety talking, telling her she can't have nice things. Just because Finnick never stuck around before—well, he always had a good reason. Everything's different now.

Annie smiles across the table at her wife and hopes her face doesn't reflect the panicked voice in her head. _Run! Run before you get hurt!_

After dinner, Cashmere and Finnick sit on the couch, with Evan on Cashmere's lap. Annie sits in the rocking chair, keeping an eye on Maggie, who's running around playing. Sometimes Maggie interjects an answer to one of Finnick's questions, or demands that he look at something. Annie's pleased that he always takes her seriously even when he's teasing her, and she wonders what's going through his mind. If he's thinking of Mags, if he wants to adopt children of his own. _He'd be a good father,_ she thinks, _if he's free now. And Maggie seems to agree._

"What news from Panem?" Annie finally asks, after two more hours about life here. If she doesn't ask, she wonders if Finnick will ever volunteer information. Which is odd, because he was always eager to be the first to tell about his day.

Finnick stretches, then folds his feet under him on the couch, shoes and all. Annie bites her tongue and tells herself it doesn't matter. He's home. That's what matters.

"Well, we won. Then we captured President Snow and executed him. You knew about this from your news?"

"Just the bare bones," Annie starts to explain, but she's interrupted by an agitated Cashmere.

"And then we didn't hear from you for two more years, and we thought you were dead!"

Finnick looks apologetic. "I'm sorry, I couldn't get away. We won, but I was still afraid of the districts falling apart into another war. Too many people died to make things _better_. I couldn't just shrug off the tensions between East and West Panem."

"They're separate countries?" Annie asks, just as Cashmere makes a protesting sound. They both look at Cashmere, but she shakes her head, and after a minute, Finnick answers Annie's question.

"Yes. Pearleye stepped down in the west and elections were held. Plutarch's still running East Panem in military style, and that's a large part of what they can't agree on. Four's opposed to military rule, and Plutarch's refused to step down or to replace the standing army with a militia or at least institute a civilian government. He's not doing anything too awful, but everyone's worried about a second President Snow in a couple of generations.

"I've just been trying to keep them on speaking terms, keep the borders open enough that students and teachers can go east and west at will. Even if the two countries don't follow the same laws, they can watch each other's television channels. That sort of thing."

"So you've been busy," Annie says sympathetically. She can't help noticing he hasn't said a word about the war itself. Despite her overwhelming curiosity, she doesn't press. The fact that he hasn't started talking about it already tells her a lot.

"But you couldn't even send word that you were alive?" Cashmere cries.

Annie's lips are pressed tight together. She wants to be fair and remember that he was going through hell while they were getting therapy and renovating a house, but at the same time, she's fiercely protective of her wife, and Cashmere's been hurt.

Finnick pulls in on himself and looks down at the carpet. His voice is so soft that Annie has to interrupt and ask Maggie either to take her train to her room or tone down the sound effects a bit. Maggie chooses to go, saying she wants to color.

"I don't know if you'll think this is a good reason," Finnick says, sounding defeated before he's even started to explain. "Because, yes, logistically I could have sent word. But I wanted to be with you so badly that if I let myself have any contact with you at all, I wouldn't have been able to do what I needed to do. It took all my willpower to pretend coming here wasn't an option and stay where I was. I just kept balancing the image of you needing help with Mags being disappointed. I couldn't disappoint her. I'm sorry."

Cashmere pulls his unresisting head onto her shoulder, and Annie says quietly, "So it was bad, then? We asked around, and Plutarch said you were last seen seriously wounded, and even a year later, he couldn't find anyone who knew where you were, in East or West Panem."

"It was pretty bad," Finnick agrees. "Even after the war, it took me some time to pull myself together and start my diplomatic travels. I was lying low in Seven, resting and recovering from my wounds. I'd told Johanna I wasn't up for any work, and I found out later that she was telling everyone who asked that she didn't know where I was. I didn't ask her to do that, but she does things her own way. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were looking for me, and I assume neither did she."

"No, I'm sure by the time it got to her, it had gone through so many messengers it was unrecognizable. And I'm sure we weren't the only ones looking for you."

"No, you definitely weren't." With a shadow of his old humor, Finnick laughs. "I can just imagine Johanna lying through her teeth. 'I have no idea where Finnick is, but definitely not sleeping on the floor of my room.'"

"So she was there for you?"

"I don't think I would have gotten back on my feet without her."

"We would have gotten you back on your feet," Cashmere insists, cradling his head.

"I know," Finnick says tenderly. "But Mags died for Panem."

"I did predict you'd keep busy after the war," Annie tells him. "I'm sorry if it took all you had."

It sounds to her like it took all he had because he kept going as long as he had anything to give, and he'd still be there giving more if he could, but she doesn't want to upset Cashmere further, so she holds her tongue. He's here now.

"We should start getting the kids ready for bed," Annie says instead. "And Finnick, you look tired."

He smiles at her. "Always, these days. Cashmere, how do you feel about sleeping in the middle?"

Cashmere is astonished. "But-shouldn't you-?"

"We can take turns," Finnick says easily. "You start."

"Honeybees go first," Annie agrees. She guesses that Finnick, like her, is treading lightly around the fact that they were once married and not quite sure where to go from here. Cashmere is brimming over with uncomplicated joy, and it's easier to let her be the bridge for now.

* * *

"Annie, can we talk?"

Annie's heart sinks with an _I knew it_ when Finnick turns to her on the second day with a significant glance toward the bathroom, where Cashmere is giving the kids a bath.

At his silent suggestion, they go out into the backyard for privacy. Cashmere's been at work here too, and it shows. Annie smiles at the blooming rosebushes and neatly trimmed hedgerows, and reminds herself that, no matter what, she has a good life here. Spotting a wand in the dirt, she postpones the conversation a little longer by bending over to pick it up before she sits down in her folding chair. One of the kids must have dropped it when they were blowing bubbles.

Finnick waits for her to sit up and make eye contact again, and then he says quietly, "I need your help to have this conversation."

"You're not staying," Annie guesses, and Finnick nods.

 _Okay,_ she says to herself. _I saw this coming._ She tries to feel pain, regret, something, but all she comes up with is dread. _How's Cashmere going to take this?_ That spurs a little instinctive fury, that Cashmere's going to be disappointed yet again. But Annie tries to repress her anger and be fair. He'll have a good reason, he always does.

"I wanted to see that you were doing well," Finnick says slowly, looking around at the yard and the back of the house, "and it looks like you are."

"Nothing's perfect, but this is pretty close. And it's all thanks to you," Annie adds. "I wouldn't have any of this if not for you."

Finnick smiles sadly. "I'm glad. I like to hear that I've succeeded at something. I've always told myself that no matter what, I did save Cashmere. And I introduced you, I suppose."

"Not only that." Annie wants to reach out to him, sweep that shadow from his eyes. "You were kind to her. And you made me feel like my life didn't have to end with the Hunger Games, that I could have a normal life after that. Have a boyfriend, go on dates, talk for hours, be there for someone else...Mags never gave me that. You did."

Then a surge of guilt hits her that she doesn't feel more. She does reach out, then, and wraps her fingers around his. "Listen, I want you to know, I did miss you. I thought of you every day for the longest time. But-"

"You were already used to that?" Finnick suggests wryly. He squeezes her fingers in return, then withdraws his hand back to his lap. The gesture speaks volumes to her.

_He's moved on, then._

"Not just that," Annie says. "When we were married and living together as often as you could risk being traced to me, that was one thing. But I couldn't start on a new life if I was clinging to the old one. And the more I saw of this place, the more I understood what you saw in it for me. It was my only chance at feeling truly safe. I have a complete life here, and this may sound harsh, but I stopped seeing you as a huge missing gap in it. Just something wonderful that happened in the past and was hard to leave."

Silently, she begs him to understand.

"I wanted you to move on. That was the point." Finnick's voice is kind, even, reasonable, but it's so even it's almost flat, and on his strained face Annie can see what it's costing him to be so unemotional. Once upon a time, she would have pulled his head onto her shoulder, maybe even her lap, and let him pour all his feelings out over her, but now? She only follows his lead.

"I did move on," she admits, reluctantly. "I still have feelings for you, but they're muted. I wish you well, I'm glad you came, and I hope you have a good life. But I've changed a lot since we last saw each other, and I can tell you have too. We don't know each other any more. If life had allowed us to stay together, if we'd been changing together, then it would have been different."

"And if I did want to move in?" Finnick asks.

 _Does he want to?_ Annie can see why he wanted to have this conversation with her instead of Cashmere.

"You're always welcome here," she assures him. "We'd have to get to know each other again. I'd probably start to fall in love again. I didn't leave you because I didn't want to be with you any more. You were wonderful...when you were around. I'm not surprised to see you leaving. Everyone always talked about you not being able to settle down in the sense of being responsible, but I see you as the opposite. If you don't have enough problems to solve, you're going to be restless no matter how happy you are. I warned Cashmere not to expect you to stay."

"How'd she take it?"

Annie makes a face. "She hasn't moved on quite as much. She's happy here, but I don't think she ever stopped thinking of you every day and wishing with all her might you could be together."

"More loyal, less wise, maybe."

"Does it bother you that I wasn't more loyal?" Annie reaches out her hand again, and places it on the arm of his chair when he doesn't make a move to reach back. "Like I said, you'd be more than welcome to move back in."

Finnick shakes his head reassuringly, and he smiles faintly. "I think Cashmere's romanticizing. She never spent enough time around me to realize how much I get on her nerves."

Annie chuckles. "There was a time when there was nothing better in the world than you getting on my nerves. But she has better reasons for being in love with you than most people," she says, a little sharply.

"Oh, I know. I'm not criticizing. I just think I have better reasons for being in love with her."

Annie melts. "You didn't move on, did you? You just can't stay."

"I didn't, not from either of you. At least, my feelings aren't muted. Like you and her, I did build a life. Romanticizing or not, I don't see Cashmere packing up and leaving you, the kids, and her garden."

Annie shakes her head in agreement. Cashmere may desperately want Finnick to move in with them, but not even Annie's anxiety can scare her with thoughts of Cashmere leaving.

"Well, it was the same for me," Finnick says.

"You're with Johanna?" Annie asks. She may not have liked Johanna, but if she kept Finnick from being alone, Annie could kiss her.

"She's been my rock. There's no one I work with better, and we accomplished a lot. Including things they said couldn't be done. We had each other's backs, charged into the front lines together, and saved each other's lives. It's been...like you said, a complete life."

"I understand." Annie's overwhelming relief belies her supposedly muted feelings. "I'm glad she could be in your life in a way I couldn't. So you have someone to go home to?"

Finnick nods.

"Well, I'm happy for you. And Cashmere will be too." _Eventually._ "I'll talk to her."

"Yes, well..." Finnick hesitates. "That's not the difficult part. I'm not moving in, you understand why, we're all resigned. But the reason I need your help to have this conversation...I don't expect to come back to visit either."

For the first time, Annie's truly surprised. A shiver runs through her, but because he's asked her to help him with this, she doesn't say anything, make guesses, or jump to conclusions. She simply watches him closely while she lets him continue, getting out one sentence after another with his forced calm.

"You remember when Mags died."

"Of course." _I'm sorry._ Mags died, but Finnick had to go on living without her. Both those are deep wounds in Annie's soul.

"You remember how I took the brunt of the nerve gas and had to be dragged semi-conscious into the water," he continues, now completely flat. Even his face has gone expressionless. "Well, the water worked its magic on my skin the way it was supposed to. They always design the threats in the arena so that at least one person can survive them. I survived. But the water couldn't reach my lungs, and I breathed far too much of the gas."

"Oh, no." Annie's own breath stops short, her chest tightens, and her vision blurs. It feels like the beginning of a panic attack, but she can't afford a panic attack right now. Finnick _needs_ her. Just a little longer, just hang on a little longer, and Cashmere can hold her while she melts down.

Right now, Finnick is speaking tonelessly, and he needs her to react the same way.

"It wasn't so bad at first. I was a little less athletic, but I could still fight. Now it's gotten so I can feel the difference even when I'm sitting down. I'm glad there hasn't been any fighting to speak of in years. If I start crying while we have this conversation, I'm going to trigger an attack where I can't breathe at all. I've done it enough times to know. That's why I'm—you can probably tell I'm holding back."

"Oh, Finnick." Annie holds out one arm, letting him decide if he wants to come to her for touch.

He doesn't, not yet. "There's no way to get sophisticated medical treatment any more in Panem. I had some exams done here last week. The prognosis isn't good."

Annie waits, then, when it looks like he doesn't want to say it, asks, "Fatal?"

Finnick answers her with one dip of his head. Fatal.

"How...much longer?"

"A year, two years. Not more than five. There are things I could do to stretch it out. Start carrying an oxygen tank, maybe. Spend a lot of time in hospitals. Get new lungs. But none of them is going to buy me more than a few more years. At most. Maybe nothing."

"And even that wouldn't be worth it?" If it were her, Annie thinks, she'd fight for every day she could get.

"It might be, under other circumstances. But I am just so...damn...tired, Annie. I came out of the Quarter Quell destroyed, and I've been running on adrenaline and willpower since then. Now it's catching up with me. The thought of going to sleep and not waking up, not having to solve problems, is more seductive than you can imagine."

"Oh, Finnick." Annie's heart cracks. She didn't mind him not moving in until just now, but now she's overwhelmed by the urge to put him in bed, find him a lung doctor and a good therapist, and feed him like there's no tomorrow.

"And if I weren't dying, I might be able to do whatever it takes to not be so tired. I'm not miserable, like Cashmere was, or terrified, like you. Only tired. Maybe it would pass with time. But I don't have time now. And maybe if I weren't so tired, I could fight for more time. But I can't. I can't do both.

"So instead of fighting my lungs and my exhaustion for my last few months, I just want a decent quality of life for as long as I can get it. I'm giving myself permission to stop solving problems. Then I want to go to sleep when it starts not being worth the effort of fighting."

"How long have you known?" Annie asks, cold with fear.

"Depends on what you mean by 'know'. I noticed right away that I got out of breath more easily when I sprinted, that I couldn't move as fast. I told myself I was just tired, it'd wear off, I was imagining it. I kept telling myself I was imagining it right up until I got a checkup here in Ayre, the first time I came, in case there was a quick fix. There wasn't. Then I told myself it wasn't getting any worse and as long as I could do my job, it was no one's business. Rudder figured it out."

"And Johanna knows?" Annie prods.

"I had to fess up eventually when I keeled over and almost died in front of her."

"Before or after I left?"

He's silent.

"Before, then. So you knew you had a serious condition and you never told me? And you never sent word after the war? I guess you never were coming back."

Finnick grits out, "Saying I didn't send word after the war because I didn't want to come back is like saying I let Mags die because I liked Peeta. I did what I had to do no matter how much it killed me inside. Or outside. And if that doesn't seem like something I'd do, I guess when your time comes you can go commiserate with Mags about how I obviously didn't care about either of you. I let Johanna get captured, if that makes you feel better." He chokes on this part and has to stop talking.

When Finnick's hand goes involuntarily over his chest with a grimace of pain, Annie's heart breaks. How many times has he made that gesture, that he doesn't even think about it any more? And she's never seen it. Johanna has, she's certain.

"All right. I'm sorry. That is something you'd do."

Annie lowers her head and closes her eyes so he can't see her tears. She can't let herself cry if it'll start him crying and trigger a breathing attack. She has to be strong. _Try to be like Mags. What would Mags do?_

"How much of this tiredness is oxygen depletion?" Annie asks, when she's got her voice back. "Cashmere's told me about how tired she was when she came out anemic, after she almost bled to death."

Finnick smiles gently. "Johanna wants me to fight it. You know her, she's a fighter. I used to be, but...I also always knew when to walk away from a fight. Even at fourteen."

With an effort, Annie swallows back her urge to stand beside Johanna and fight. Instead, she raises her head and looks deep into his eyes. "So you're dying of the same nerve gas that killed Mags?"

Looking so intently, she sees the flutter of vulnerability behind the mask. "Perceptive as always, Annie. Straight to the heart. Yes, and it's one of the things I'm using to help resign myself to this. I don't want to die, but I don't have a choice, and if I let myself get emotional about it, I'll just kill myself sooner. I'm not really as calm about this as I'm pretending to be."

"Performing again?" she asks, disappointed.

"Yes, but for myself this time. I've decided I'm doing a lot of things for myself now, now that I can afford to and I won't have another chance. That's why I'm living with Johanna. It's not that I moved on, exactly. I think about Cashmere as often as she thinks of me, and if you asked me who I'm in love with, I think the answer would still be you. I try not to ask myself that question too often. Losing you hurt, and I'll always have the scars, but it was a clean break. It healed. Especially seeing you here having the kind of life you always deserved. Leaving Johanna would be another break, and I don't want to be raw for the rest of my life."

He says he's in love with her, and yet he doesn't want to move in. Annie doesn't know what to make of it, except that maybe love is just the beginning.

"But if you thought you had another fifty years, would you want to live with us and try again?"

"I miss you both. I'd try to come visit when I could. But honestly, I'm not sure I could take another open wound. Mostly what I feel these days is tired. I may not be miserable, but I'm not full of life either. Look, I've fit more into thirty years than most people could in thirty lifetimes. I've only got a couple years left, maybe, and what I've decided is that I'm going to do what feels right for me. Not the path of least resistance, but the path of least sacrifice."

"You've sacrificed a lot." Annie knows that the sacrifices she's aware of are just the tip of the iceberg.

Finnick's mask is still on, but his voice carries just a trace of huskiness. "I gave up Mags, I gave up you, I gave up Cashmere, I gave up my pride, I gave up my health, in a year or two I'll give up my life...I don't want to give up Johanna too."

"Are you going to be living in Seven?" Annie wonders. "Or Four? Sorry, I still think of them by the old names."

"Seven," Finnick answers. "North Panem. That's another thing. The air up there is very thin and not good for me. I'm losing time by choosing to live there. Here, with all the medical care you have, would be the best. Four would be middle ground. And Seven is where I've been living and putting down roots for the last few years." He hesitates. "I can't swim properly anyway." Saying that is the closest he's come to crying in this conversation.

That jolts Annie. "You can't hold your breath," she realizes.

Finnick just nods, trying to get his breathing back under control.

"You need me to help break this to Cashmere?"

He nods again.

"All right. Tell me about Johanna, though. She's good for you?"

"We're pretty stubborn about being there for each other. A while back, she started insisting I sleep in her room. You know how I am."

"It helps with the insomnia," Annie guesses.

"It did. I don't have insomnia so much any more. I'm too tired. I don't even have a startle reflex." He laughs a little. "I have a _Whatever it is, I'm sure Johanna will handle it_ reflex. But it helps with the aloneness."

Annie smiles. "Still no sex, or...?"

Finnick shakes his head. "She's never been interested, and frankly it's a relief for me these days."

"And if she was interested?" Annie presses.

Finnick shrugs. "She's passionate about everything else. I'm sure we'd be having great sex."

"Do you even know what you want, or are you just mirroring what she wants?"

Finnick slumps. "I don't know. I'm probably mirroring. I've never had the chance to find out what I want. But since I don't know, can I just be content with what I have? It's a little late now to be figuring it out."

Aching, Annie makes the effort to shove her disappointment down where he can't see, because this isn't about her, it's about him. If all he wants is to die in peace, then she can give him that at least. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry. It'll be okay. Go be with Johanna. Don't be alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where everyone comes after me with torches and pitchforks. SORRY NOT SORRY.


	2. Chapter 2

It hurts so much that Finnick has to laugh. Years of hunting down hotel rooms because he needed to be alone to sleep. And now that he's gotten back to the hotel room he was staying in, he can't sleep because it's empty. He knows he never slept alone by choice, but this is ridiculous.

So Finnick simply lies there on the bed, waiting. Empty. Raw, from the goodbyes. Certain he did the right thing, but knowing it's going to be a while before he's himself again. Because Annie understood and did her best to make it easy on him, but Cashmere kept looking at him with bewildered eyes like if she could just understand what it was she did or didn't do, he'd change his mind.

He hopes he hasn't hurt her too badly. He hopes Annie can help her understand that it wasn't her, that she's wonderful and gets everything right, and she's perfect—for Annie.

Perfection for Finnick comes storming in the door at half past eight, muttering to herself while she wrestles with the deadbolt in the dark, and then hits the light.

"Oh. You're back."

Finnick thinks about cracking a joke about how he was here first, so technically she's back, but he's too tired.

Johanna drops her bag by the door and comes and sits on the edge of the bed. "How'd it go? How come you look like shit? Do you need me to rip off anyone's head?"

"Fine," he says, then feels bad because he can't muster more enthusiasm. It's not Annie's fault.

"What's wrong? Is Annie okay? You found her, right?"

Finnick nods. "She was fine." He desperately wants the energy to sit up and explain how everything worked out as well as anyone could expect, and make it sound convincing. But he wasn't expecting to feel this damn tired.

"She didn't want you back?" A note of rising anger enters Johanna's voice.

"No, she did." Finnick looks inside himself for a reserve of energy, and he finds it. It's running low, but the reassurance _you're still an actor_ comes back from deep within.

He's just about to summon his mask in the old familiar way, when Johanna's hand descends on his hair. "Did you not want to go back?" she asks more gently.

"Something like that." Finnick rolls over onto his side, closer to Johanna, and she starts stroking methodically. He closes his eyes. "I'll try to explain."

Johanna waits.

"She's fine. She's gotten help, she's got a good job, she married Cashmere, they bought a house, they adopted kids...they're doing great. I came mostly to see if they had any problems they needed help with, but no, it's been four years and they're solving all their own problems.

"It's been four years, and we weren't exactly strangers, but we weren't exactly not. We couldn't pick up where we left off, we'd have to start over. There's not really anything for me to do here, anywhere I fit. I could try to make something up, but I don't have much time left, and I don't want to show up, disrupt their lives, shoehorn myself in out of a sense of obligation, and die on them.

"I'd rather just carry on with what you and I've been doing. You have a country to organize, I've been helping, and now that I'm not shuttling back and forth between East and West Panem, I can stay in North Panem with you. For as long as I have the energy."

"You're coming back to Panem?!" Finnick opens his eyes. Johanna's jaw dropping is like a punch to the gut.

Shit. Of course he hadn't run any of this by her before announcing his plans to Annie.

"No, I'm sorry," he stammers, half pulling away from her hand. "I didn't ask, I just assumed-"

With an effort, Johanna recovers. "No, I'm not saying no, I just—let me get this straight. You want to carry on—what, sleeping on my floor? When you could move in with Annie and Cashmere?"

"Well, not if it's an imposition."

"It hasn't been an imposition yet!" she flares. "Just—give me a minute here. Okay. One thing we get straight now. If you're staying until you die, we can't just 'carry on.' That was temporary. Just for the war. You have to tell me what to do, and how."

Finnick shakes his head. "Nothing. Just what you've been doing."

"What I've been doing is holding down the fort until Annie could do it right!"

"You've been doing it right," Finnick says softly.

"You can't tell me you don't need sex, or affection, or-"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. I've had sex, romance, courting, the whole shebang. I'm too tired for any of it now. I need a place to sleep, with someone I trust."

"And Annie won't give you that?"

Finnick hesitates. "She probably would, now. But she didn't, she couldn't, for a long time. Mags did, but then she stopped when I became a victor. And Cashmere...she'd have been happy if I slept every night next to her, but she also didn't say anything when I suggested she stay with Annie, or leave the country. She didn't fight for it. For me.

"I don't want this to sound like blame, but no one ever did. Until you. You insisted I stay every time I talked about leaving. You fought for me. And I haven't had that since Mags decided first that District Four needed to be protected from me, and then that I was a weapon for protecting District Four."

"Well. If what you want is someone to fight for you, that's the one thing I can do. I'm not good with people, but if you tell me what you need, and you're okay with me not having feelings—I'm not in love with you, you know," Johanna blurts.

Finnick smiles, amused by how reassuring those words are. "I don't need you to have warm and fuzzy feelings. I guess I need to know that you're better off in some way with me around. I don't want your pity."

"I've never pitied anyone in my life," Johanna snaps. "It's either despise or respect with me, and I think you know which one you are."

"I do," he says, thankful. "But you'll get something out of me staying?"

"Well, who else do I talk to?" Gruff, Johanna folds her arms and looks away. "You can keep me company when my back's hurting and I can't sleep. But you're not sleeping on the floor, that's ridiculous. I should have put my foot down years ago. We'll make room."

Finnick's about to protest, when he realizes she's saying they'll share the bed. "Yeah?"

Johanna shrugs. "We do it when we're away from home. We're doing it here. I don't mind. The only reason I didn't insist sooner was because that bed was a little cramped and I thought you might be more comfortable on the rug by the fire."

"All I need is a place to sleep, but I won't say no to sharing the bed if you don't mind."

"Then what, you're going to sleep until you sleep forever?"

"That's the idea." As long as Finnick remembers to put it that way, he doesn't feel the slightest urge to panic. "I'm looking forward to not having to do anything else."

"You don't have to, you know." Her hand reaches out to him, half involuntarily. "If you don't have to solve any problems for Annie, and you want someone to fight for you, we could tackle your problems. I could-"

Finnick actually flinches. If anything's going to make him panic, it's that. "No, I can't, I'm too tired-"

"That's what I'm saying. I'll do the work, I'll look for doctors, I'll handle all the explanations-"

"Johanna, Johanna, listen. I appreciate it. Really. But you couldn't handle the treatments for me. And even if you could...I'm too tired for what comes after I get better. I'd love to stick around and help you organize the shit out of North Panem. But just the thought scares me. I've done it, I kept doing it as long as lives were depending on me, but I feel like you can take it from here."

"And so you have to die?" Johanna asks in disbelief.

"I'm going to sleep," Finnick corrects. "And I'm asking you not to bring it up again. The offer is open, I appreciate it, I'll let you know if I change my mind."

Johanna's face falls. She's still floundering for a way to keep insisting, when he continues,

"Now what about you? You went out today?"

"No, we're not done talking about you. Give me something else to do for you, then. Something we can make happen while there's still time."

"Well, it occurs to me..." Finnick opens one eye and peers at Johanna. "Don't bite my head off."

"No promises," she retorts, but swats at him affectionately.

"Ha ha. It's about being able to contribute after I'm gone. I believe in what you're doing, and I'd like to help more. I'm getting a military pension from West Panem."

"Yeah, me too," Johanna tells him. "Something about the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games and the Seventy-Eighth and being an honorary Four Career...you didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

"Who, me? Nah, Rudder likes you. Pearleye too." It's true, he never mentioned anything about pensions. He just kept dropping the phrase "honorary Career" here and there over the years, knowing it's not hard to get special treatment for victors in Four. He's glad they offered Johanna something for her years as Four ally. "Anyway, I asked if I could leave you my pension, but apparently the rules say only spouses and children. Even for victors. Which is stupid.

"Maybe I shouldn't care. I'm sure the money will be used to help rebuild West Panem, and that's important too. But the North Panem economy is weaker, and I've been living there, and it would mean a lot to me to be part of the rebuilding when I stop being able to work."

Johanna opens her mouth, looks frustrated, closes it. Finnick can see the struggle on her face between not wanting to get married and not wanting to tell him no.

"We don't have to tell anyone," he promises her. "Nothing has to change. We go to West Panem, sign the paperwork, don't invite anyone, don't tell anyone, and deny it furiously if anyone asks. Then you send them the proof of my death when the time comes, and collect my pension."

"A sham marriage?" Finnick can see Johanna thinking about this.

Finnick snorts. "Nothing sham about it if I'm going to be sleeping next to you while my health deteriorates. I've been married, and let me tell you, it's the work that makes a marriage, not the sex. 

"That said, if it's the work that you don't want to do, I won't hold it against you. I know you watched your father decline, and if that's not something you want to go through again, I won't be alone. Annie and Cashmere will take me in, and it'll be all right."

"Oh, no," Johanna flares. "Hell, no. You're staying with me. I don't know how this happened or why you're not married to Annie, but if you want to live with me and you actually care about the same things I care about, I'll take your damn pension."

Finnick turns over in bed. "I'll let you think about it. You can change your mind if you want. Sleep on it."

"I'm not going to. But if you need to sleep...long day?"

A wry smile. "Private Odair, reporting for sleeping duty."

* * *

Johanna watches Finnick sleep in the early morning light, trying to sort out her feelings. She'd really thought Annie could take better care of him, and she only had to hang in there until they were reunited. But it turns out Annie's abdicated. And Johanna knows how long Finnick waited on Katniss to open up to him. That's one of the grudges Johanna is still carrying.

So it's up to her. He may say she doesn't have to, but she can't stand watching him carry all the burdens and get nothing in return. She can't handle the fact that he had it all arranged so that he would be captured by the Capitol instead of her. Not that she wanted to be captured. But she didn't even give any thought to making sure he made it out all right. She can't handle him bringing her meds, being the first one to reach out and _keep_ reaching out past her hostility, mentoring her...and sleeping alone. Dying alone.

Here she is again, looking at a situation someone else should really be handling, and saying to herself, _Fine , I'll do it._

Finnick stirs in his sleep, but goes still again when Johanna tentatively rests her hand on his head. She feels stupid, because all the phrases running on loop through her head are so damn useless. _I'm not going to let anything happen. I won't let them hurt you._

_He's already been hurt, brainless. Everything that can happen to a man has already happened to him, and you stood by and watched it happen, and now you think some pretty-sounding words are going to make it better?_

_Nothing's going to make it better,_ she tells herself. _Just stay with him if that's what he wants._

The only thing stopping her from knocking Annie's door down and demanding she take Finnick back is something Finnick said casually, years ago. _Annie's in Ayre and I don't know why she'd come back._ Then today he announced he'd be living with Johanna, without even thinking to ask if he was welcome.

So maybe he should stay with her after all. That doesn't mean Johanna's not furious with Annie.

And Johanna's the last person who should be entrusted with someone as fragile as Finnick. She'll give him a place to stay, she'll fight for him, but she's not kind, she's not gentle, and she's not caring. She's guesses she's better than nothing, if he doesn't want to be alone, but he's settling. She wishes he didn't have to settle.

Johanna's still sitting there watching him when he turns over, stretches, and opens his eyes. She hasn't seen him bolt upright out of sleep in months, if not years, and isn't sure if that's a good sign and means the jumpiness is wearing off, or simply a sign of how tired he is. She doesn't want to ask.

He pulls himself into a sitting position, and leans back against the pillow. "What's next? Are we going home?"

"Where is home?" Johanna asks. She kicks at the edge of the bed where her legs are dangling. "Do you want to go to Four?"

He shakes his head. "Maybe Four is home, but it's too much home. Too many memories, too many feelings, everything's changed, and no one's there any more. I don't think I could even go back to visit, not if I can't swim. I just want to find a place to stay, and not have to leave again."

"Stay," she jokes.

"Woof." Finnick laughs, then grows more serious. "What about you? Are you getting help for your pain? We didn't even talk about you yesterday."

"You tried, but I'm too stubborn for you." Sighing, Johanna settles in and takes the pillow next to him, shoving it behind her back. It's too small and soft and lumpy for back support, but hell. She'll take what she can get.

"They have painkillers, but no one knows how any of them are going to work on me. Effectiveness, side effects, withdrawal, and so on. You know how it goes. I could stay and try everything and go through the usual hell in hopes of finding something. Of course, no one will talk to anyone in Panem to find out about the medication that worked for me there and if they've got the same thing here under a different name, because if countries talk to each other, shit might get done. That would be too easy."

"They're afraid of another global disaster," Finnick reminds her.

"Panem's already a disaster, but as long as it's not global, that's fine?"

"Panem was the biggest and most heavily armed country," Finnick argues, but half-heartedly. They've been over this before, and he always insists on seeing both sides of the debate.

"I am sick of everyone being too afraid to poke the bear!" Johanna exclaims. "I have gone my whole life poking the bear."

"And being the bear," he says affectionately. "I'd get everyone in communication if I could, you know that. I'm in favor of you having your painkillers."

"I know. Don't remind me. Anyway, it's only been a week, and I was meaning to ask about alternatives to painkillers. Surgery, that sort of thing."

"So you want to stay a while?"

Johanna hesitates. If Finnick wants to go home, part of her wants to drop everything and take him. But maybe if they're here, she can convince him to get treatment, and maybe he can have more than a year or two left. Even if the last week hasn't left her too optimistic about her own chances here.

"I'd like to give it another shot. If you don't mind us finding a cheaper place to stay, a room in someone's home instead of a hotel?"

"No, sure," Finnick says. "I only suggested this place because I stayed here last time. But you're right, it's probably best if you're here on business representing your country, not so much if you're paying yourself."

"It is pretty full of itself," Johanna agrees. The décor isn't exactly Capitol, but it's too far in that direction for her not to catch herself turning a corner and expecting to see the elevator to the training center. "I'll look for something while I'm out, then. You coming?" Finnick hesitates, so she guesses, "Want to catch up on your sleep?"

"Just tired."

* * *

Finnick spends the day curled up in bed, unable to sleep but not minding much. Every time the wind gusts or he hears a burst of raindrops against the windowsill, it reminds him that Johanna's out there somewhere, in Ayre, where he brought her, and where he can hope she's finding what she needs. Maybe if she does, he'll finally feel like he was able to do something for her, after she was reaped, captured and tortured, and her painkillers ran out after a year, and all he could do was watch.

When the door slams into the opposite wall on opening, Finnick just sighs. He turns over in bed. "Nothing?"

"No." Johanna's voice trembles. "Do you know what they said?!"

"Something stupid?" Finnick hazards.

"They said that being tense aggravates the pain! They wanted to send me to therapy for anger management! And now I can't even manage my anger by throwing things, because it's a hotel room and we'll have to pay for anything I break!"

Finnick hides a smile. "If you throw it at me, I'll catch it?" He sits up in bed and holds out his hands in offer.

Fists clenched, head raised, face flaming, Johanna turns to Finnick. "Am I turning into a parody of myself?" she demands.

"No," he assures her. "It's mostly people telling you to tone it down that sets you off. When it's just you and me, we get a lot done."

"Because you're the only useful person around," she mutters. "'Tension'!" Spinning abruptly on her heel, she snatches up a ceramic vase and hurls it at him.

With trained reflexes, Finnick catches it, and sets it down unharmed on the desk. Johanna comes over to sit down beside him. Her hair is damp, and she pulls off her coat and throws it on the floor, kicking at it in frustration.

"Johanna, why don't we agree that tension makes it worse, and being in pain makes you tense, and being at war makes you tense, and being tortured makes you tense, and being surrounded by people you get impatient with makes you tense."

"Fine." Johanna breathes out through her nose, sounding suspiciously like she's trying not to cry. "It probably does make it worse. What am I supposed to do about it?"

"Did you tell them that in their imaginary world where you don't have a hundred reasons for being tense, you didn't get stung by mutts in the first place?"

Johanna can't help laughing a little. "If I hadn't been raised by wolves and I had proper manners, that's what I would have told them."

Finnick smiles, starts to extend his hand, then thinks better of the idea and twines it around his other hand in his lap. It's so hard to express solidarity without touch, but he just counts himself lucky Johanna will touch his shoulder when he needs it.

"Well, if they think doing something about the tension will help, what is there besides therapy? Massage? Heat?"

Johanna narrows her eyes. "They recommended massage, yes. And how did you know about the heat?"

"I'm not entirely incompetent as a spy, you know." Finnick gives her an indulgent look. "I know I've been your cover all these years."

Johanna looks sheepish but, thankfully, not angry at being found out. "Is that why you decided to move back in with me?"

"Sure. I'll pretend I'm keeping it warm for you, and you'll pretend you're keeping it warm for me, and we'll carry on pretending we're invincible."

"Speaking of which..." Johanna looks back and forth between him and the open window in confusion. "It's not exactly warm out there."

"Oh, you can close it. I was just being sentimental."

Johanna raises an eyebrow. "Homesick for Four?"

Finnick smiles through his nostalgia.

"This isn't exactly Four weather. No, it's just...A few years ago, I woke up to a rainstorm in Seven. Nothing special, just one of those moments that for some reason gets burned into your memory. It was cold and wet outside, and I was warm and dry. I was weary to the bone and had nothing to do but lie on the floor next to your bed. I was lost inside and you were there. I hadn't felt that safe since Mags died.

"Ever since then, when it rains, I think of you." Last week, lying in bed in a strange house, he found himself on the verge of tears because it was raining and Johanna wasn't there, and he was so exhausted he couldn't sleep. It was one of the reasons he was so sure he was making the right decision.

Johanna's looking uncomfortable at all these emotions, so he doesn't push it. "Anyway, what about massage? They must have someone—no?"

She's shaking her head. "It won't fix the nerves. Any of this, anger management or massage or heat, would just be to help the strain on the surrounding muscles. Apparently I clench them up when I'm in pain—well, I knew that, but like fuck I'm going to stop. I'd have to get massages regularly for them to help, and it's not worth moving here for that."

"Well, heat can be arranged back in North Panem," Finnick points out. "We can always set you on fire if we need to."

Johanna kicks his ankle. "You keep Katniss away from me."

"No, that was Cinna, remember? And I'm pretty good at massages." Footrubs, backrubs, shoulder rubs...Finnick's got a wealth of experience in it all.

Red alerts are going off in Johanna's eyes. "Haven't you done enough?"

"No, and I don't like being told that I have any more than you do." It's hard not to get snappish every time he hears that line, going back all the way to the academy days when Donn would ask him if he could please let the rest of the class catch up, up to Plutarch telling him to rest when he's not on duty. "If I'm too tired, I'll tell you."

Johanna narrows her eyes, but has to concede that point. "No, I'll be the last one to tell you not to get shit done, just...haven't you done enough with absolutely nothing in it for you?"

Finnick feels his chest go tight, and he has to make a conscious effort to take a deep breath that doesn't hurt. It's never easy to admit this weird relationship he has with touch that he can't explain even to himself. "Don't assume there's nothing in it for me," he says simply.

Johanna studies his face, and then nods. The nice thing about her is that, yes, sometimes she's abrasive and oblivious until you have to insist, but if she's perceptive enough to figure out that he's avoiding a subject, she gives a shit about what she thinks is his pride.

"If it's our last night in the hotel," he suggests, "maybe you should take advantage of the hot bath. You can tell me if I'm living up to my claims about being good at back massages."

He waggles his eyebrows comically at her, but suddenly he chokes on his own breath. He's making it all about him again, isn't he? Because he can't stand not being able to do anything. He can just hear the exasperation in Annie's voice, and see the look in Mags' eyes, understanding but asking for space all the same. Then he has to breathe out slowly and then in again and hope Johanna doesn't notice, because he really can't hold his breath any more, and he keeps forgetting.

Johanna rolls her eyes. "You're good at everything, so why not this?" She stands up. "Fine. Come on."

She lets him get in behind her in the tub without a word, but she jerks away hard when his hand, covered in bath oil, touches her back.

He flinches back. "Johanna, I'm not hitting on you-"

"I know that! You think after all these years I don't know that?"

"Okay." Finnick raises his hands, palms forward, in surrender. He didn't think so, but with his history, it's always the first thing to come to mind. "You're not weak-"

"You have no idea what's going through my head!"

"Fine. Tell me, then!"

Johanna just shakes her head. She's sitting hunched forward, elbows on her knees, shifting around uncomfortably. He can see in the lines of her back how it gets locked up from the strain.

After a few minutes, Finnick dares the lightest touch of his fingertips on her uninjured shoulder blade, no more than that. "It's practical," he points out, trying not to push.

"I guess," she concedes. "Fine, go ahead."

He's barely gotten started, though, when she pulls away again. "It's no use, Finnick. It doesn't help. Nothing does. It only works if it gets me to relax, and I can't relax."

Finnick's hands don't stop. "Annie and I used to go on dates to a bakery cafe," he says casually. "Her favorite part was ordering dessert, and eating mine too. Sometimes she'd tell me what to order, so she could have one she knew she liked and one new one to try. And you know what she used to say?

"She used to say that chocolate didn't help her crippling fear. But she could have the fear with chocolate, or have the fear without chocolate."

Johanna doesn't say anything, but neither does she tell him to stop. She may not be relaxed, but she is thinking.

Finnick lets her think in peace, rubbing the oil over her skin and hunting for sore spots, while he makes plans for going home.

"I'm afraid," Johanna finally confesses into the silence.

"Of what?" He doesn't move, just leaves his fingertips brushing her back so lightly she shivers.

"Turning into my father," she whispers.

"You're afraid of me turning into your father?"

"No. Well, that too. But you make me afraid of me turning into my father. You don't know what it was like, watching him fade in a chair. He didn't do anything dramatic like completely shut down, or go on crying jags. He just stopped fighting. He stopped caring. Now that I look back, he seemed so utterly spent, like he'd fought uphill all his life, watched everyone he loved die, and just couldn't do it any more. It doesn't look like weakness to me any more. It looks like exhaustion.

"Now you're talking about being so tired you want to sleep forever, and I'm going to lose you too. And I'm so afraid if I stop fighting, if I don't drag myself through every day making no concessions except utter collapse, I'll just give up too. If I'm not running on full willpower, I don't know what's going to keep me getting out of bed. If you're vulnerable to being this tired, then no one's safe."

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

It's all he can think at first. Then, with mounting dread, _I can't. I can't drag myself through treatment and get up every morning with a smile for the next however many years to keep from scaring you. I can't._

He chokes on his own fear, forgetting hers for a moment. _But do I have to? I had to carry Peeta until I gave out. I didn't get to say I was too tired._

Finnick opens his mouth to say, _All right, I'll try the treatment,_ but he can't do it. He would if he could.

What comes out instead is, "Jo, maybe it's better if you don't watch my decline. Annie and Cashmere will take me in, I won't be alone."

Johanna squares her shoulders. "No, you're forgetting the part where you're my mission."

"I'm not, but this mission isn't going to end well."

"It's going to end better than last time. I was so...resentful. He wasn't making my life any easier, and I was a child and he was my parent and it was his job. It wasn't your job, and you did it anyway. Making your life easier is the least I can do. And I'm not talking about obligation, or even gratitude. I'm talking about something I have to do, for myself."

Finnick understands. He may not be alone if she goes back without him, but she will.

"Promise me something." He lays his hand directly over the worst of the wounds, just below the right shoulder, giving it the lightest pressure he's capable of.

Unlike him and Annie, Johanna waits to hear what it is she's promising before committing. He smiles a little at her stubbornness.

"We don't say it, but I know I'm all you've got left. Promise me you'll find someone else. If not before, then after. Doesn't have to be romantic, just someone you can count on."

Johanna makes a not-very-hopeful sound.

"Go look up Rudder," Finnick suggests. "He always speaks well of you."

"He's too stoic."

"I thought that's what you liked. Strong, silent, rugged."

"That's what I used to think too. Damn you, Finnick."

"Well, rumor has it, where rumor is named Annie, that Rudder has a personal life. You never know what you'll find in the most unlikely places. You two have been my mainstays, my anchors. Maybe you can be each other's."

"I'll try," Johanna concedes grudgingly. "I won't push everyone away. But I make no promises not to silently compare everyone to you."

"What a terrible idea! No one can possibly live up to that."

Johanna doubles over in laughter and punches him in the knee. "Never leave. Never die. You're the only one who says outrageous things like this." He can hear the tears masked by the laughter.

"You'll have to be the outrageous one," he says tenderly.

"I only do 'rageous'."

Finnick laughs with her, wincing as his chest pays the price. "Time to step up your game, then. But if you're not sure you want to go through with this, or if you change your mind, you can tell me. I'm not planning to drag it out until I need a babysitter, but at some point, I'll stop being able to pull my own weight."

Johanna mutters, "The one person I wouldn't even call it babysitting, just making up for everything you've been through..."

"Nooo," Finnick tells her tenderly, "you're going to have a good life."

She sighs. "I don't play the 'if only' game a lot, but I do wish I'd moved to Four. Rudder and I work well together. I could have handled being married if it meant being part of the rebellion. I could have gone to the academy and yelled at your kids when they whined about how cold it was every time a cloud passed overhead, about how at their age I walked to my job barefoot in the snow uphill both ways, and how they're soft and don't know how good they have it..." Johanna keeps going until they both dissolve into laughter so hard they can't get any words out.

Finnick recovers first, mostly because his lungs are forcing him to keep a damper on it. "You could have been my neighbor. I would have liked that."

* * *

The room Johanna found for them isn't as fancy as the hotel, but in some ways it's nicer. It has a nice red and white bedspread, and a rocking chair by the window, which Finnick takes to when he can't stand to be in bed any longer.

But the problem is that more often he wants to spend the whole day in bed, and if he slips out to use the bathroom in the middle of the afternoon, he comes back to find the room being vigorously cleaned by the owner of the house. Which he appreciates, he supposes, but he's still mourning the death of his marriage, and telling himself that no, he really is sure he doesn't want to change his mind.

It'll be easier when he and Johanna are back in North Panem. When they have their own place, where there's nothing to think about except making the most of the time he has left.

Johanna holds out for a few more weeks, but money for this room starts growing tight, and she's just getting more and more frustrated. "I hate to give up, but..."

Lying in bed, Finnick makes a sympathetic face, but he doesn't budge. "Ready to go home?"

She gives him a long look, spreading her hands helplessly.

"I'm sure," he promises. "This is what I want. As long as..." Now he does lift his head off the pillow, so he can read her face, her body language. "Is this something you're tolerating because it's only for a couple of years? Because I don't have to sleep here-"

"No! What the hell kind of question is that?"

Finnick blinks. "It's the kind of question where you don't want to ruin a really good friendship."

"Ruin, hell. If you live to be a hundred, you sleep here. You don't go letting yourself die because you can only have nice things for a year or two."

Oh. Oh. That's why the question upset her so much. "No, it's all right," Finnick tries to reassure her. "Even if I could have all the nice things, I'm too tired to last much longer. I just don't want to lose the important things." His voice drops to a whisper. "I don't want you to be glad when I'm gone."

Johanna's hand closes painfully tight around his wrist. "If you live another hundred years," she repeats, hard and unrelenting, "you sleep here. Got it? And you don't have to go outside in the rain any more if you don't want to, either. You've earned it."

Finnick closes his eyes again, lays his head back on the pillow. "And I get to keep the friendship?"

"What, you think I'll run out of things to say in the next hundred years?"

Finnick laughs. "Not in a million." He's sorry that he can't stay and give her someone to talk to. But at least someone will be thinking of him, after.


	3. Chapter 3

The Victors' Village is unrecognizable. Walking up the street to her old house, Johanna wonders at first if it was attacked during the war. Then she recognizes the pattern: the vines, the grass, the trees, the shrubs...nature reclaiming its own. _The Village was abandoned,_ she realizes, stunned.

Outside the front door, she pauses and looks over the structure. It still looks basically intact from this angle, although she can already tell it's going to need repairs.

"Well," Johanna says to Finnick, keeping her voice flippant. "Let's see what we've got."

In her head, Johanna has an image of what her house was like when she left. Even knowing how stupid it would be to expect nothing to change in six years, she can't help holding up the reality to her memory when she steps inside, looking for something familiar.

Nothing. 

No furniture, no carpet, no belongings. Not even any squatters, which she'd told herself to be prepared for. Just, nothing.

Half in a daze, she opens the first closet she passes. Empty, of course. In the hallway bathroom, she starts to check the drawers, but there's not even a drawer to check. They took those too.

"Wow."

She isn't angry, but if she doesn't summon anger soon, something more embarrassing is going to escape. And she's angry at herself for caring.

Before she can, Finnick pokes his head around a corner and exclaims, "It's huge!"

"Why, were the houses in your Village smaller?" Johanna's grateful for the distraction, grateful that he's not watching her while she gets herself under control. It would be just like him to notice that and go exploring to give her a moment of privacy.

"I-I'm not sure yet. Let me look around. But they were definitely taller," Finnick explains. He turns around and demonstrates with his hands. "Two full stories, an attic, and a basement. This one's so low to the ground that a minute ago I thought it was small. But it just keeps going!"

"Want a tour?" It'll ache, but it'll give her time to decide what she wants to do now.

He does, so she takes him down the hall to the bedrooms, and they stick their head into each one.

"Definitely bigger," Finnick concludes. 

"It looks smaller with furniture," Johanna snaps.

"Even so. I had a bed, a dressing table, and enough room to move around. This is—you could fit three beds in here and still have room!" At least he likes it. It makes her feel less stupid that she decided to move back for sentimental reasons.

"Which room was yours?" Finnick asks. "I imagine most of this space was wasted on a victor? Donn was the only one in Four who actually used his house."

"I used to move around," Johanna answers. "One bedroom after another." Just standing in this one makes her guts clench with the memory of withdrawal symptoms.

"But I think this one—let me show you—was my favorite."

Finnick follows her across the hall. The bay window is covered in leaves. "It has the best view," she tells him, "or it did, before it got totally overgrown."

"I'm looking forward to getting it all cleared away." She hopes he's as sincere as he sounds, because she's starting to remember how miserable she was the whole time she lived here, and that what she wanted was someone to share all the luxury with. Only now there's not even luxury.

Opposite the window, Johanna runs her hand along a niche with damaged wood paneling. "This used to be built-in shelving. Looks like they couldn't resist the shelves." She can't even really blame them. Looting is practical. Just a matter of survival. And it's not like she's been here in years.

Finnick's in the adjacent bathroom. "No, I'm telling you, this is way nicer than anything we had. The only place I've seen separate tubs and showers was in the Capitol. Did you have hot baths?"

"When we had hot water, yes." Joining him, Johanna reaches out toward the tap. "How much you wanna bet we don't even have running water now?"

They watch the faucet, but nothing comes.

"Well, I can see I have my work cut out for me."

By the time they get to the south side of the house, Johanna's caught on to how different things were in Four. "Did you have sunrooms?"

Looking around at the walls of glass, Finnick just shakes his head. His awe keeps her from glaring at the missing panes. 

"When it's not overgrown, and the sun's coming in, it gets warmer than you'd think. I used to sit in here all the time."

"Annie would have loved this," Finnick murmurs. When Johanna glances at him, he explains, "For her woodcarving. She had to cram a studio into a corner of her dining room.

"It's going to be wonderful," he concludes, sounding genuinely enthusiastic. "I don't know how the hell you heat a place this size, but I can't wait to move in."

"One room at a time," Johanna answers. "You close the door and turn on the heat, and turn it off when you leave the room. They took some of the doors, but every room is supposed to have one, even the kitchen. You'll notice how the kitchen's set off from the rest of the house, in case it catches on fire."

"That makes sense. We'll keep Katniss out of it, then."

"Crazy boy." Johanna snickers, involuntarily, but gratefully. Only Finnick could make her laugh today. "That just leaves the kitchen. This way."

She's sure it was the first thing to be raided, so she doesn't even bother stepping all the way in.

Finnick does, turning around in circles. "What's with the big fireplace? Doesn't it get warm enough in here?"

"It's a cooking hearth," she explains. "It's really good for roasting."

"I see. So you have a hearth instead of a stove?"

Johanna whips her head around. "They took the fucking stove. Of course they did." She leaves as abruptly as she entered. "Well, if you still want to live here, we're going to need a lot more supplies than I reckoned with."

"Can we spend a night in town, collect supplies, and start carrying them here tomorrow?"

"We can." Johanna taps her fingers against her thigh, thinking. "I don't know anyone, but we can probably find someone who lets rooms. Let's see if Mrs. Windy's still around. She was good in an emergency if you were driving a truck up here for delivery and a storm hit."

When they get there, Finnick smiles at the middle-aged woman Johanna introduces him to, and he holds onto that smile when recognition flashes into her face and she gives them a suspicious look.

"You'll need two rooms. Unless you're married."

Johanna takes a deep breath and rolls onto the balls of her feet, braced for a fight. "You're serious. What, saving the world isn't good enough?"

"Those are the rules," Mrs. Windy answers, not too troubled if they decide not to stay.

Finnick's torn between making peace and backing Johanna. Before he can decide, she's rolled her eyes and turned her back. "Every time I think I miss home, I forget how stupid it is." She starts heading toward the door.

"I'm married, does that count?" Finnick tries, with a wheedling, harmless expression.

It moves her not at all. "This isn't the Capitol, boy," she says sternly. 

In her eyes, he can see the old familiar condemnation: _worthless playboy, never done an honest day's work, rutting like an animal..._

Biting back his disappointment, he goes outside to join Johanna. She's nowhere to be found, and he has to walk around until he spots her, already striding off. He catches up to her with only a little effort, but then struggles for the breath to speak as he follows her.

"We need to get an inn founded." Johanna doesn't look to either side as she strides and seethes. "Did she say anything after I left?"

When he doesn't answer, Johanna finally turns to glance at him. Finnick puts a hand over his chest and gives her a desperate look.

"Oh. Sorry. Dammit. Sit down. I'm sorry." Johanna grabs his arm, hauls him over to a boulder, and pushes him down on it. "Catch your breath."

She stands over him with her face in tight lines, and Finnick pulls himself together as fast as he can.

"Is there enough traffic up here to be worth an inn?"

"Oh, there will be," Johanna promises or threatens. "For now, though... _are_ we married?"

Finnick shrugs. "I promised you that if we went through with this, we didn't need to announce it. We don't. All that matters to me is not having to sleep alone. We can go back and sleep on the floor of your old house."

"It'll be drafty," Johanna warns. "But we're going to fix it up anyway, so...it's up to you. Did you notice no one started living in the Village after it was abandoned? That's how anti-Capitol the attitude around here is. I'm surprised they didn't rip down the structures after they pillaged. Probably afraid of ghosts."

"Johanna, if there was one ghost I'd be afraid of, it'd be yours."

"My ghost would follow you around, and anybody who messed with you, I'd fuck their shit up. You're not sleeping alone, don't worry. Do you want to go back to the Village? A few blankets and pillows and it would be as comfortable as anywhere we've lived."

"Do you want to live in Four?" he counters. He doesn't, but maybe they can find some spot far in the south that doesn't remind him too much of home. "I slept with half the district and no one was more than a little exasperated. It's much closer to the Capitol, in good and bad ways."

"I don't know. I like it up here, you know. I like the trees and mountains and lakes. I don't know what I'd do with an ocean. And the people...I understand them. I can predict them. I mean, I should have predicted the room nonsense, I obviously haven't been living rurally enough lately, but as soon as she said it, it was familiar, at least. You and Four and your emotional openness...I don't know. I get weirded out enough just living with you.

"But most of all, I feel like I have a job here. I've been rebuilding, and it's been going well. I never let them drive me away before. Why let them now? I want to finish what I started."

Finnick nods. "Then we stay. I'd rather be here. The isolation is...a relief. I like people, but getting it through my head that I'm not on camera any more has been hard. It's easier up here, where it's so obvious there are no cameras."

"So. Head back?"

Finnick presses his lips together. "On second thought, I don't know if I should walk that far." At Johanna's surprised blink, he says, "I know, it's not that far. That should tell you how bad it's gotten the last couple of years. I think I can manage a night alone. I'm tired enough I'll probably sleep anyway."

Johanna gets a stubborn look. "Not on your first night here. I'll ask around. You wait here and catch your breath."

Finnick waits on his boulder. Behind him are orderly rows of spruce, obviously planted after the previous tree cover was removed. To his right, snow-capped peaks reflecting the sunlight. Ahead, trees and buildings, trees and buildings. The streets don't even deserve the name, just paths marked by stones.

To Finnick, used to the crowding of District Four, this town seems almost abandoned. Occasionally, he spots someone walking from one building to another, or seemingly out for a stroll, but only one at a time. A couple of children playing in the distance. No streams of people in motion.

Before the war, he used to have to head inland just to go for a morning run. The streets and the shore were too crowded. He'd run along the boundary fence until he hit a spot where he knew the sea traffic thinned out enough for a good swim; then he'd head toward the water.

Here? Johanna says she would hike for hours before the paths up the mountains became too overgrown. He wishes he could.

Putting his hand over his heart, Finnick can feel it laboring, even at rest. 

When Johanna returns, it's with a disgruntled yet satisfied look. 

"Found something?"

"Here's how you game the system. We still have to pay for separate rooms. But there's no curfew for the sitting room, as long as we're quiet. And I know you sleep sitting up. So there you have it."

Finnick sighs. It'll work for him, but it's not fair to Johanna, who should have a proper bed.

"This is how we're doing it," Johanna says briskly. "You don't have to sit there looking for better ideas. I'm afraid you'll have to walk a ways, but not as far as the Village. It's the best I could do."

Finnick stands up and reaches for the bag closest to his feet. "Let's just go. I'm not getting any less tired sitting here."

Johanna beats him to the bags. "I'll take them." Then she stops. "Finnick. Wait."

With a curious look at her, Finnick sits down again. "What?"

"We _can_ share a room. I'll deal with the fallout."

Finnick just shakes his head. "But I am curious what fallout."

Johanna makes a face. "It's hard to explain. Expectations change. It's hard being an unattached woman, and it's hard being a married woman. Restrictions everywhere. But it's hard in different ways, and I got used to fighting my way through the first one. I built a whole strategy around being aloof and unavailable. Even when I was teasing them with the prospect of marriage, I was frigid as hell. No one wanted me for anything but the money.

"I don't want to have to switch strategies, deal with the assumption that if I'm married, you own the house, you own any businesses, and you call all the shots, and deal with not being able to get anything done unless you approve it. I know you'd approve of anything I do short of murdering Katniss, but that's not the point."

"No," he agrees, "you shouldn't have to go through a middleman, even as a formality. It's only for a day or two, until we get settled back in the Village. It's fine, Johanna. Let's go."

"One other thing." Johanna touches his back. "I'm sorry I jumped down your throat last week about last names. I didn't realize you guys didn't do that in Four."

"Sometimes we do, but I never imagined you would. My mother didn't change her name. My father did," he adds with dark humor, "after I became a Capitol playboy. Not you, though. You're Johanna Mason, always will be."

After dinner, Finnick chats easily with the inhabitants of the house, interested to learn about their lives, but he's tired enough to feel a little relief when they go to bed at nine. They leave him and Johanna with instructions to put out the lamp when they go to bed, and then they're gone. Johanna puts it out at eleven, but she and Finnick keep talking desultorily in their chairs.

"Why do they care if we sleep in the same room?"

"It's part of proving we're not Capitol. No casual sex. It's stupid. The first thing I did when I got to the Capitol was everything even I couldn't get away with here."

"And yet you won't knit," Finnick points out gently.

"Well. You may have nothing to prove. I never said I didn't."

Finnick asks her for memories of life here before the war, and slowly, hesitantly, she shares them. She talks most easily about her grandmother. "She was a lady. Not like me. But she was anything but tame. She always liked to be on the move. Once the kids were grown up, she started working with the food train that followed the log drivers down the river. It was her ideal job. She only left it when my mother died and she came to help out with the new baby.

"Gran used to tell stories of life on the river, made it sound so much more glamorous than anything I'd ever seen, but my dad thought I was too young to be traveling so much. He kept me in the sawmill with him when I was a kid. It didn't pay well, but he didn't want to let me out of his sight. Then she got really sick, and my dad and I both lost our jobs at the mill for missing so much time trying to get her back on her feet, and she died, and then the shit hit the fan. My dad and I had a big fight, but he couldn't stop me. I took out all the tesserae I could get my hands on. Then I contacted one of Gran's friends, who got me a job with a food train. 

"Dad wanted to keep trying for another mill position, but before he'd started looking I'd already found a job. It didn't pay much, not for a thirteen-year-old girl with no skills, but at least I had a place to go. And I kept taking out tesserae. I knew I couldn't move up if I was weak from hunger. I've told you this before, how I went from following the log drive along the banks making food, to driving the logs out in the river."

"You did. And you held it against your dad?"

"Of course. I mean, I guess I don't really blame him for me ending up in the arena, but I did throw our history in his face in every disagreement. The tesserae, my job, everything. He eventually found another mill to take him, but then he had that accident. I paid for his healer, and I kept the roof over our heads and food on the table. He never went back to his job. Too tired.

"It's not exactly that I wish I'd been nicer. It's that I wish we'd had a chance to live together when I wasn't desperate. I was always so sure I was about to lose my job because they resented having a woman on the team, and I had a dependant, and I had no friends to help us out...it was so bad I half-dreaded the day when I stopped qualifying for tesserae, even if it meant I was safe from reaping. I was scared all the time, and I took it out on him.

"Once I had a steady income and a house, I was planning on taking better care of him, seeing if I could cheer him up. The Village is gorgeous, and I never got to show anyone around. And now I'm almost thirty and I've seen so much shit that I'm pretty sure I can survive anything. The only thing I'm afraid of any more...well, I've told you."

_Ending up like him. Like me._

Johanna shakes herself out of the past and says in steadier tones, "Anyway. You know I can't help thinking of him at a time like this, but you're not, like, his surrogate, because that's creepy shit."

Finnick smiles. "I believe you."

"The apathy is what I could never stand, though. Did you hear them, earlier, telling us they used to have running water in this house? And working flush toilets? But no one will do anything about it, because roughing it is part of not being Capitol.

"As usual, I'll have to do it, and it's got to get done now, because in a generation, no one will remember running water, and no one will give a shit, and it'll be even harder to introduce technology."

"I know. But have you noticed that when you start a project, you never have trouble getting the manpower together? You'll find your electricians and handyworkers and plumbers and architects, and everyone will buckle down and get to work."

"But no one will get started unless I'm breathing down their necks. That's what frustrates me."

"So? You don't know how to get the water running again. It makes no more sense for them to be frustrated with you over not knowing how to fix a pipe than for you to get upset because they don't have your organizational mindset. We had the same experience when we brought the Career academy instructors up from Four: plenty of willing soldiers who just needed training."

"It's not a skill, though," Johanna argues. "It's just talking to people and keeping them on schedule. Anyone could do it, but no one will."

Finnick smiles. "It's a skill. Making contacts, making small talk, charming people, getting secrets out of them...it doesn't look like a skill either, but it is. Mags organizing an underground revolution, a skill. Rudder having whatever it takes to transfer knowledge to students, a skill that I never had. Admit you're good at what you do, and not just anyone could do it."

She folds her arms. "I don't believe you." But Finnick thinks he heard a hint of pleasure, so he lets it go.

When the clock strikes midnight, Finnick takes a deep breath. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Remember what I said about not arguing? You stay here."

"I'm not arguing," Finnick says. "I'm just saying it'll be fine." But he makes no move to get up. Johanna's so stubborn, she'd probably tie him down. It makes it easier just to relax and trust her.

Another silence follows. Then she sighs. "If I'd made friends when I lived here, we'd have found someone to take us in. But I'm an outsider, almost as much as you. I moved here from the valley, I speak just differently enough for it to matter, and just living in the Village meant I was flaunting my Capitol wealth."

"And I was living in the Capitol and flaunting everything I had," Finnick says wryly. "It's okay. We'll make this work."

He wakes up from a doze to find the first light starting to creep in through the window. In high summer, at these latitudes, it must still be quite early.

Hoping Johanna's sleeping, he checks, but she's curled up in her chair, shifting restlessly. She hears him stir, and looks over at him. He can just make out the outline of her face 

"Thanks for..." he says tenderly. Everything.

"Told you, I didn't sleep in the Quarter Quell except when you were there. Go back to sleep, it's still early. I'm here."

Finnick doesn't know if she manages to sleep at all, and he feels vaguely guilty because he suspects he knows the answer, but he does fall asleep again, almost instantly.

With all that rest, he actually feels somewhat energetic as they start back to the Village, and takes as many bags as he can carry. Even the prospect of the uphill walk doesn't daunt him.

He finds himself more willing than capable, though, and by the time they arrive, it's all he can do to drop the bags just inside the door and stay on his feet while he leans against the frame, gasping.

Johanna stares at him, eyes narrowed, and he distracts her with a question as soon as he can.

"So we can live together, but not get married?" Five years, and he's still learning how this place works.

"It's complicated, Finnick. Obviously, living together, when they wouldn't even let us share a room, is going to cause problems. But they're the same sorts of problems I'm used to handling. Sometimes it's easier to go all the way beyond acceptable, than let them catch you being conventional. I live with you and say 'fuck the consequences,' I alienate more of my neighbors, but I get to lump it under 'Johanna does whatever the hell she wants.' We get married, and suddenly they'll start expecting me to be a wife."

"So it's harder, but you're better at hard?"

"Something like that. So where are we camping out?"

After hunting around, they find a spot in the dining room where the floor is pretty intact and near a fireplace. "The wood's going to have to be ripped up and replaced in at least three rooms," Johanna notes. "At least there's no shortage of lumber."

While Finnick curls up in the corner with half the blankets and pillows, not quite sleepy but needing to rest, Johanna prowls through the building with a pen and pad she picked up at the general store, making notes.

After about an hour, Finnick gets up and starts putting the food in the pantry and thinking about what to make. He's tired of fish, but it's what he's most comfortable making, so he gathers some twigs and branches from outside and starts a fire.

"Johanna," he calls toward the hallway, where he can hear her muttering over the closets, "what do we do for water?"

"I brought enough for drinking today, but there's a well," she says, coming into the kitchen. "I'll need to check to see if the bucket's still there. I know, I miss the faucet too. We'll get them on speaking terms again soon."

"I was going to boil some mush," Finnick explains.

"Let's just do fish and cabbage," she decides, "and then we can prioritize what we need to take care of next."

"Also, I was going to improvise a pine broom. I think the dust on the floor isn't doing me any good."

"Then I don't think you should be the one sweeping. I'll go cut off a branch—wait!" Johanna's face lights up, and then she runs into the living room. "I hope they didn't find it."

Curious, Finnick watches while she pokes and tugs at the floorboards.

"Right, this one." With the point of the knife on her belt, she pries the plank of wood up, and triumphantly pulls out an axe, wrapped in leather.

"My ceremonial axe from winning the Hunger Games," Johanna explains, caressing the blade. "I trained with it before the Quarter Quell. Then I hid it before I left. It keeps its edge better than the locally made axes. I was peeved at the time because it was a felling axe instead of the battle axe I wanted, but that's just what we need now."

"Nice. They let me keep the trident my sponsors sent, when I asked nicely and agreed to do a lot of extra propaganda appearances with it. So I had a combat trident on my wall, not the fishing one I expect I would have ended up with otherwise."

"What's the difference?" Johanna asks.

"The fishing trident is barbed, to keep the fish from sliding off. The combat trident has smooth prongs, for yanking out when you need a weapon again two seconds later."

"Interesting." Johanna rises from the floor, and hesitates. "It is pretty dusty and cobwebby down here. You chop, I'll sweep?"

"Deal."

After fashioning a broom, Finnick passes it to Johanna in the doorway and agrees to wait outside until she's done. "Smells nicer than any other broom I've had," he comments as he hands it over.

"It's going to shed, though," Johanna points out. "I'll show you how to make a proper pine broom at some point."

"True. We'd need a broom to clean up after this broom."

For some reason, he finds this funny, and continues snickering while he wanders around outside looking at his new yard. It's larger than the one he had in Four. He can barely see their neighbor's house, although he realizes the overgrown foliage probably adds to the sense of distance. Trees, shrubs, weeds, and vines cover everything in sight.

Wandering farther afield in the Village, he finds the well, and after poking at it a bit, manages to draw water. After that exertion, Finnick sits on the stone edge of the well and catches his breath. He can't help but think with a twinge, _I know someone who could fix the houses. And someone who could bring the yards to life._

When he hears Johanna shout from the door that it's safe to come in, he presents her with the water.

"Oh, good, they left the bucket."

"Out of curiosity, where's the boundary to the property?"

Johanna looks dismayed, and then rolls her eyes cynically. "Don't tell me they took the fence, too."

"They've been taking stones from the wall surrounding the Village, too."

"Of course. Wait, you walked that far?"

He smiles. "Very slowly. I'll get to work on food. I'm hungry enough that fish is starting to sound appetizing."

With no table and no plates, they eat standing over the counter. Johanna talks nonstop with her mouth full about the repairs that need to be made, the well, the burst pipes, the outright sabotage in the Village, the obstacles to getting Despard and the Village hooked back up on the power grid, the provisions they'll need to lay in in the house, whether it's a good idea to build an outhouse first...

"I'll cook?" Finnick offers, as this daunting list trails off. Normally he'd offer to carry provisions back and forth, but he can barely make the round trip in a single day. "Johanna, we're going to need help with all this."

"Well, obviously. I'm planning on mobilizing the whole town. I've been doing this for years in different regions."

"I know. But it's a different dynamic here, and a lot more isolated. I was thinking while I was resting, and we need to get the Village populated again. There are some twenty, thirty homes up here, and we can make the Village an extension of the town."

"Good luck!" Johanna scoffs. "It's been abandoned for years. Did you notice they burned down the Peacekeeper cabins? I was going to point it out on the way here, but then I got distracted."

Finnick can guess what distracted her: him dropping to the ground with a sudden, urgent need to put his head between his knees. He recovered, but she insisted on carrying part of his share of provisions the rest of the way.

"We just need to convince them that they're victors. Not of the Hunger Games, but of the revolution. They'll be more invested if they consider the Village theirs. And we'll be less alone in it. This whole endeavor is about making North Panem less isolated, isn't it? I'd like to be less isolated up here."

Johanna has to concede the point. "Fine. I think you're right, it'll make our job easier. But I still don't think they're going to go for it."

Finnick points out, "These houses are bigger and better built, with more amenities. I don't think the place we stayed last night was even wired for electricity. Talk about the central heating to them with as much gusto as you do to me, and that should catch their interest."

Johanna shakes her head. "They'll just think I'm a wuss from Four."

"It's a numbers game," Finnick says impatiently. "Talk about the central heating, and some of them will definitely be interested. Okay, here's the deal. I'll be the wuss from Four, and I'll find out who's interested. I can't promise I'll be up for much physical labor, but I'll make and work contacts as long as I can. And having neighbors will make that easier, when I can't make the trip into town any more."

Johanna busies herself cutting more cabbage, trying to hide her reaction to the reminder that he's going to keep getting worse.

"You'll introduce me around, then?"

Johanna looks dubious. "I'm sure I'll recognize some of them by face. If they still live here. If they haven't changed too much."

Finnick chokes back laughter. "Johanna, I'm not going to tell you what to do, but it might be a good idea to get to know your neighbors. You lived here for four years."

"Oh, I'm going to have to. We've got to get my heating back."

"I mean socially."

Johanna puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. "I may have lived here for four years, but you've known me for how long?"

Finnick looks at her with fond exasperation. "Fair enough. I'll take the lead."

"People like you, anyway."

"No." Finnick shakes his head. "They like the persona. I find people interesting enough to listen to them talk, ask the right questions, and remember what they've told me, but if they start interacting with me when I'm being myself, they back off quickly." He gives her a little smile. "You stuck around for some reason." 

Johanna looks uncomfortable. "You made me feel like things could happen, that the world could change," she says quietly. "You opened up the possibilities. And besides, you were stubborn enough to keep liking me even when I attacked you every time you opened your mouth. Anyway," she adds before he can respond to that, "we've got our work cut out for us. Repairs, electricity, running water, hot water, decent roads, more food, better food, better medical care, and, someday, my heating."

* * *

Between Finnick's contacts and Johanna's organizational experience, by late autumn the house is in a state where they're prepared to winter in the Village, even without central heating. Finnick's glad, because it's home already, but he's also glad that Hanrik and Ella Ward have also decided to spend the winter in their new Village house. With everyone else wintering in Despard, it'll be good not to be completely alone up here.

"That reminds me," Finnick tells Johanna, "Liss Carter said she'd be interested in keeping an inn in Despard, if there's enough business to turn a profit. Can she do that? I've been living here for five years and I still never know what women are allowed to do."

"Is she married?" Johanna asks. Then she scowls. "And don't give me that _How do you not know this?_ look. Is she married?"

Finnick grins sheepishly. "No, not married. Yet."

"Well, if she gets married, her husband will own the inn, but she'll probably still do all the work. Is she planning on living there alone?"

"She and her sister live together. She said ideally they'd stay where they are and manage the inn from there, if we can add a building on or near their current property."

"Should work, then. I'll look into it in the spring, when I start driving traffic between here and the foothills." Johanna smiles and bumps him with her shoulder. "I tease you, but it's useful that you get to know everyone and help me figure out what they'll be good for. We make a good team."

"I enjoy it. And it's probably the only contribution I'll be able to make soon." Finnick can feel his lungs starting to labor even when he's done nothing but rest.

While Johanna chops a stack of firewood for their winter stash, Finnick stands by and keeps her company. Even if there were a spare axe, wielding it is too much. The last time he tried, he ended up dizzy and tired, with a pounding head.

Whenever a decent-sized pile accumulates, Finnick stacks it in the wood bin. Until at last he has to stop that as well. He stretches out on the porch then and listens to the sounds of birds, small wildlife, and Johanna.

A larger rustling sound turns out to be a moose, but when Johanna asks Finnick if he feels like butchering, all he can do is shake his head. They let it go.

When she joins him for a break, he passes her a tin cup he's kept ready, and she chugs the water down.

"Thanks," she mumbles between gulps. "I used to chop wood for the neighbors when I was young. Around the time Gran was dying and just after. It didn't really pay, not in money, but I could get food or sometimes medicine that way. I got pretty good at it."

"I bet." He looks at the axe leaning against the porch. "Wait, are you using your old felling axe? Ella said we could borrow their splitting axe."

"What?" Johanna straightens, indignant. "She said I couldn't!"

Finnick throws up his hands defensively. "I did not sleep with her! I swear."

Johanna laughs hysterically. "Sure you didn't. You're on a first name basis with her.

"That reminds me, while we're stocking up for winter, if we're going go exploring, we should do it soon. There's good hiking around here, and I want to show you around while we have time."

"We've been busy," Finnick excuses, trying not to read too much into "while we have time." She meant the weather, not his lungs. "But I'm game, I'd love to see your favorite spots. Speaking of game," he jokes, "are we hunting moose, or are the moose hunting us?"

Rolling her eyes, Johanna slaps his arm lightly. "Bring the gun and stay on the paths. I haven't been bothered by any wildlife yet. Even when all I had was a felling axe."

As they're packing some water, food, ammunition, and extra layers of clothing, a slow, triumphant smile spreads across Johanna's face. "I know where we're going."

"Where?" Finnick's glad to see her delight. He's never forgotten her deceptively casual _I never got to show anyone around_.

"Come with me. You'll see."

Johanna hurries them out of the house after that, and waits more impatiently than usual when he has to take the walk slowly.

Sitting on a tree stump, catching his breath, Finnick looks around. It's nice, lots of evergreen trees and crisp air, but it's not spectacular. Not if you've been living up here for the better part of a year, and spectacular is your new normal. "Is this about the walk or the destination?"

"Just hurry up."

"I'm coming as fast as I can. Now I know how I made everyone else feel."

"It's your turn now. Don't collapse on me, though. You're smaller than a tree, which means in theory I should be able to move you, but you won't like it."

Finnick laughs, wheezes, and puts a hand over his chest. "Stop making me laugh."

A complicated look crosses Johanna's face, and Finnick makes a wry motion with his mouth. "Yeah, that's one reason I don't want to drag this out. There's only so long I'm willing to live without being able to laugh."

Johanna takes him by the hand for the rest of the hike and doesn't care who sees.

Realizing that at his pace, it's going to be a long, slow journey, Johanna reins in her impatience and begins a monologue. Finnick can't participate, but he's glad for the companionship.

"You know how most of the communities up here in the mountains were originally set up to restore deforested areas. Well, the easiest way to restore a forest is to plant a bunch of trees all in a row, all the same type. But then it turns out what you get isn't as good as the original forest. So they had to put more and more effort into sending scientists into the virgin woods to make notes, and then try to replicate that. 

"If you look around, we're in what I think of as intermediate forest. If you head downhill from Despard, some of the older areas—the first ones to be deforested and restored, the most easily accessible—have the very artificial, tree farm look, and this clearly isn't that. But if you're like me and you've spent a lot of time in pristine forests, this feels different. I'm not a scientist and can't put my finger on it, but I can tell the difference."

After years in Seven, Finnick's starting to tell the major trees apart, but it hasn't been his primary focus, and he certainly doesn't know most of the other flora, so he nudges Johanna as they walk and points to this or that, and she identifies it as they go.

"That's cedar. There's very little around here, but there's a magnificent patch farther on. Farther than I'm going to take you," she says with a concerned glance at him. "But cedar was always hugely in demand in the Capitol, for furniture and chests and that sort of thing.

"Oh, look, we're almost here." Johanna points. "Just around the bend."

Finnick thinks about persevering, but if he wants to enjoy whatever the surprise is, he realizes he'd better sit down before, not after, he sees it.

There are no stumps in sight, so he finds a tree with a relatively smooth surface and lowers himself to the ground where he can lean back against it. Johanna stands in front of him, holding the shotgun. _My grizzly._

He wants to ask her to set down the gun and come sit with him, put her hand on his chest even if it doesn't help him breathe, but he knows she's going through a turmoil of emotions, and holding a weapon and standing guard makes her feel better. After all the time he spent making Mags' stroke and Johanna's back all about his need to do something, he can only be amused at finding a kindred spirit.

Finnick doesn't ask, but Johanna takes his hand again when they resume walking. As soon as they turn the bend, he sees a tiny, vibrantly blue pool. It is, as she predicted, empty.

The sight is gorgeous, even breath-taking, but Finnick misses swimming so much that his chest starts to ache for a different reason. "I see, you have water," is all he says, flatly. He knows he's supposed to be delighted whenever someone gives him a gift, and convince them it's what he wanted more than anything, but he can't, not now that he's promised himself not to have to perform any more. Not here, not with her.

Even if she meant well, Finnick feels himself growing angry. _I told you one of the reasons I couldn't move back home was that I couldn't handle living near the ocean. Now you want me to look at the water and not be able to go in?_

When he gets his disappointment under control enough to look at Johanna, though, he finds she's grinning and stripping. "Come on, I have a surprise for you."

Uncertain, but trusting her, Finnick begins taking off his layers of clothing and follows her into the pool.

"Oh, my god, it's hot!" he exclaims the moment the water covers his feet. "Wow, it's even warmer than home."

"Some of the springs are too hot for bathing," she tells him, "and I got a couple bad burns before I learned to test, but there are a couple around here that are perfect."

"You've been holding out on me!" Finnick accuses and starts trying to dunk her.

"No!" she protests, escaping and shaking her wet hair. "I swear, I forgot! I didn't come here much. Usually it was when I was in the middle of a hike and needed some pain relief. I'm sorry I forgot. Finnick, I wouldn't have held out on you!"

"I believe you," he concedes, but he narrows his eyes playfully at her as though he's not quite convinced.

"I wouldn't," Johanna repeats. "I brought you here the moment I remembered."

"So you did." He thought he'd gotten used to the hot/cold extremes of Seven, but being in hot water outdoors in cold air is a new feeling, one he's glad he lived to experience.

He can't swim, but he can float on his back, and he lets himself revel in the gentle embrace of the water. Wading in the surf would be torture, but this place is kinder. Welcoming, where the ocean is challenging. He finds himself blinking back tears at being, for one unexpected glorious moment, home again. But what he misses most, he realizes, is being immersed.

So he finds a spot where he can sit with the water up to his throat, the best he can do without being able to hold his breath, and Johanna comes and sits beside him.

"Are we allowed to sit in the water naked like this?" He hadn't thought twice about it when stripping, and he knows Johanna adapted quickly to the Capitol license, but then he remembered to wonder what would happen if someone else comes along.

"Oh, hell no. But I'm hoping someone shows up and clucks at us. I'd like to jump down someone's throat." Johanna gives him a melancholy look. "I miss play-fighting with you," she admits quietly. "I have to stop attacking you if you can't fight back."

Finnick, who's still feeling so drained after a short bout he can hardly believe it, looks at her regretfully.

"So are there actual consequences," Finnick wonders, looking for a less difficult, if not much more pleasant, topic of conversation, "or just clucking? Because I've been clucked at my whole life, and-"

"No, there are actual consequences," Johanna informs him. "I don't think anyone's going to burn the house down over our heads, but there's work I want done that will never get done that I don't talk about, because it's not your fault and I'm trying to shield you from the consequences. But I don't care. It's worth it."

Regretful yet again, Finnick takes her hand under the water and squeezes it. Then he has to let go hastily and press both his hands to his chest for a coughing fit. So close to the surface of the pool, it's hard to bend his face down to cough properly while trying not to inhale water, and Johanna grabs his upper arms to steady him.

"I have to move," he gasps out, and he shifts backwards until the water's no longer putting pressure on his chest. _Damn it._

It's colder with more skin exposed to the air, but what he really hates is the feeling of giving up the water little by little. Johanna stays beside him, hands firm around his triceps, and that's the only thing that makes the concession bearable.

"Is this how you learned to swim?" he asks, trying not to think about himself.

"Ha! No, I learned to swim while fending off hypothermia. You think we had hot springs down by the river? We had a fucking current, and nobody learned to swim."

"Showing them up?" Finnick wonders. He can relate.

"Not so much. See, if you fell in, you were counting on someone to pull you out, throw you a pole or something you could grab onto. And I didn't have any confidence anyone would pull me out. I figured it'd be along the lines of, _Oh, well, guess this is why we don't let women work the log drive. They die._ Which, men die on drives too, but at least they'll have each other's backs." Johanna brings a fist down into the limpid waters, remembering. "You were the first person who ever, _ever_ had my back."

"But not the last," Finnick says with confidence. Reminded of her back, he puts his hand lightly over her right shoulder blade, and she leans back. "How is it?"

"I wasn't thinking about it. So not too bad, I guess."

He rubs his thumb over the spot she's told him hurts the most. "They took the scars, of course?" They took his scars, they took his body and facial hair before it even grew, they took his fertility...

"Of course," Johanna says, "they took everything. Except the pain, they were generous enough to leave that. Believe me, there were doctors skeptical about my injuries in Ayre, because I couldn't show them my marks."

"I doubt they have as much cosmetic surgery," Finnick excuses. "Anyway, thank you for bringing me here." He's trying to focus on what he's gained, not what he's lost. "It's amazing. I can see why you wanted someone to share it with."

He's not only talking about the hot pool.

"I'm glad you came." 

Neither is she.


	4. Chapter 4

Against her will, Johanna starts to count firsts.

* * *

_A first: Finnick begs off play-fighting altogether._

When they've had enough snow, Johanna shapes it into a wall around the house, for insulation. Finnick comes outside and keeps her company, tells her what he remembers about science and snow, but he doesn't help her sculpt it.

When she's done, she packs a snowball invitingly into her fist, but Finnick turns away, looking embarrassed.

"Maybe later."

Johanna averts her eyes, because she knows there won't be a later.

That means they had a last time and she never even knew it. She can't exactly ask for one to remember him by, either.

It's stupid to lie awake in bed, trying to dig the last time out of her memory.

* * *

_A first: they eat in bed._

Finnick's just about to serve dinner when a coughing fit leaves him too weak and dizzy to stand. He sways against the counter, trying to fight it, but in the end he grabs for a chair and sinks into it before he ends up on the floor.

Johanna hovers silently for a minute, watching, curling her fists, waiting to see if there's something she can do. Then, when he seems to have stabilized for the moment, she moves to serve the food instead.

"I put some sage in the turnips," Finnick tells her from the table, trying to maintain the cozy atmosphere. "Let me know what you think. I have no cookbook, so I'm experimenting here."

Johanna sets a plate in front of him. "Pathetic. And you call yourself a spy. Shouldn't you have homed in on the best cook in Despard by now and ferreted out all her secret recipes?"

Finnick makes a face and mimes stabbing her with his fork, but what Johanna hears is the laugh he can no longer produce.

"Turnips are fine," she comments. "Less bland than last time. We'll turn you into a cook yet." When he doesn't react, she sets down her fork and looks him up and down. "Finnick, what is it? What do you need?"

He's staring at his plate with his head propped up in one hand and his ground venison and mashed turnips untouched. "Maybe...can I eat in bed?"

"It's your bed, idiot," Johanna answers. Then she looks at his plate. "I'll put that in a bowl—do you want separate bowls, or?"

"Just dump it all in," Finnick tells her.

He's eating wearily when Johanna reappears in the doorway, holding her own bowl. "Scoot over. It's my bed too."

"Bossy," he teases gratefully. "Mind-reader."

* * *

_A first: Finnick avoids company._

A knock sounds at the door. Finnick sighs, looks at Johanna, leans his head briefly against the back of the armchair, and then gets up.

"No, I'll get it," Johanna says. 

"No," Finnick says. He shakes his head and continues past the door. "I can't."

Johanna freezes and watches him disappear down the hall. "Finnick!"

His steps don't slow. "I can't." His voice comes faintly, and then she hears the bedroom door close.

"Damn it." 

The knock again. 

"Damn it! I'm coming!"

Now she's stuck entertaining neighbors while worrying about Finnick, and she has to admit she's snarlier than usual, and distracted. He's always been the hospitable one. And now she doesn't know what to do.

What saves her is the coughing that can be heard even through a closed door. She winces in instinctive sympathy, and Ella and Hanrik look up. "He's sick?"

Johanna just nods, and thanks the deeply ingrained sense of privacy of this district that she's not expected to give details.

She's even more grateful when they take the hint and get on their way sooner rather than later.

Once alone, Johanna barges into their bedroom, slamming the door against the opposite wall in her hurry. Finnick's curled up unmoving in the bed, a blanket pulled up over his face, and except for his breathing, which is now never quiet but is worse when he's awake, he might be asleep.

"Finnick?" She puts a hand on the earth-colored bedspread over his arm.

"Just tired."

Finnick pulls the blanket down a bit, and she takes that as an invitation to move her hand to his hair. He's like a cat sometimes.

"Those will be your last words, you know," she tells him. "You've been saying that for years, and I always knew you'd keep saying it right up until you keel over from exhaustion."

"How's this, then? 'Just dying.' Exhausted. Keeled over."

So used to a deliberately cheerful Finnick, Johanna feels his bitterness like a stab through the chest. _No, I didn't mean-_

* * *

_A first: Johanna faces the spring alone._

"We haven't had a real snowfall in a week or more," Johanna announces at breakfast. "Look, the snow wall's shrinking. You can even see through the window. Want to come out and help me knock down the rest of it? I can't wait to start spending time outside again."

"I can," Finnick says glumly. "In fact, I don't think I'm going to be able to. Not to help with the snow, and not even to make contacts for you. I'm sorry. I don't know, maybe I should have stayed with Annie. You liked me because I was 'getting shit done.' You didn't like Peeta, always having to be carried."

 _That's different,_ Johanna immediately protests, without even knowing why. "What did I say about you reporting here for sleeping duty?" She crosses her arms and frowns at him.

"That was when I was going to get back on my feet."

"Listen. It's not just the work you do. Yes, you were impressive as hell, and yes, that was like a fucking moth-flame effect for me. But you've always supported my goals, and you don't know how rare that was. My father cared about me, and when I got home in the evening and told him about my day, there was plenty of  _that's nice_  and  _well done_ , but he didn't really care about the results. Sure, it was better than when he was trying to tell me I couldn't do what I was doing, and eventually he decided that whatever made me happy was good enough for him, but I could have not done any of the work I was doing and gotten the same reaction.

"And Glenn, you knew Glenn. He wanted the Capitol to go down in flames, but he sure as hell didn't want me to be the one driving it. I don't get a lot of people caring what gets done and that I do it. A cheerleading squad is nothing to be sneezed at."

Finnick looks comforted. "What about peanut gallery?" he jokes. "Can I be the peanut gallery?"

Johanna laughs, a little forced. "Sure. Heckle me and tell me what I can do to make the house more comfortable."

"Since you ask, I was hoping you'd move the couch closer to a window, if we're going to be able to see out again. I'd like to be able to watch the weather and the wildlife, so I don't have to miss going outside."

Later that day, Johanna drags the couch into the sunroom. She's just glad he's comfortable, she tells herself.

* * *

_A first: Finnick finds a way of passing the time indoors._

Johanna aches with exhaustion when she reaches the front door, but it's the good kind. She's shoveled, chopped wood, pitched in with rebuilding in the town, lugged supplies from town, and just barely beat the snow home. A car would be useful, if she could get the infrastructure in place. She has no time for all the changes she wants to make.

"Letter from Four for you," Johanna says as soon as she steps in the door. "I just need-"

A coughing fit interrupts her, and Johanna flies to the couch where Finnick is sitting, forgetting all about her parched throat.

Then there's nothing she can do but stand clenching her fists helplessly while she waits for the fit to pass. She adjusts the pillows behind him when he's done and ready to lean back against them. It's stupid, because it does nothing, the pillows were fine where they were, and what she really wants is to reach inside his chest and readjust his lungs, but he looks at her gratefully, as always, when she does this. So she does it.

Finally, he gestures weakly toward a tall glass of water on the table. Johanna offers it to him, but he shakes his head. "For you," he gasps.

"Me?" But the temptation is strong, so she gulps down water while he watches with a small smile.

"Saw you coming up the road," Finnick explains, nodding toward the window next to him. "You looked thirsty."

"I guess that's the advantage of living with a spy," Johanna chuckles. Then she notices what he's holding. "Where'd you get that yarn?"

"From Ella," Finnick answers. Johanna wonders if everyone thinks it's for him, or if they think it's for her, and which would be worse. Then she notices the set of his chin. Soon, it won't be his problem. Why the hell would he care what anyone thinks of his hobby now?

"Well." She clears her throat. "You're going to make me a pair of legwarmers, right?"

* * *

_A first: Johanna turns on the heat._

Johanna arrives home with her triumphant announcement. She's still not comfortable with how last winter went, Finnick holding hot water bottles to her back while she tried not to clench every muscle in her body. But now they've got proper heat, and all thanks to her.

She misses Finnick's bubbling-over enthusiasm, but above the tired smile, he manages to put a genuine light into his eyes that says all the words he can't any more. 

But he doesn't get off the couch to go put his hand on the radiator next to hers.

Refusing to be disappointed, Johanna starts sorting through everything she carried from Despard. “Oh, there's a letter from Mickee.” She underhands him the envelope without even looking up from her sorting.

"These what you wanted?" She hands him a small package. "You said circular knitting needles, and before I paid for these, I made him swear up and down that these are, even though they don't look circular to me-"

Finnick smiles. "Yes, sorry. Didn't realize you weren't familiar. Perfect, thank you."

Then he has to stop and catch his breath. Their conversations are getting shorter and shorter. But he makes her the legwarmers, and a shawl too.

* * *

_A first: Finnick, too tired to move._

Finnick's shivering, almost too subtly to be seen. The knitting needles are still in his hands, and he's slumped against the side of the couch.

Wondering how fast he's fading, how much time she has to react, Johanna flies to his side.

A ragged breath startles her just as she's stretching her hand out to take his pulse.

Finnick's eyes flutter open. He smiles up at her. "Hey." Then he coughs, and he closes his eyes again.

Johanna wants to bite his head off, snarl at him never to do that again, but just in time she recovers enough to realize—never do what?

Instead, she looks for some concrete way of helping.

Leaving as abruptly as she entered the room, Johanna finds a blanket and drapes it over the nearest radiator. When it's good and warm, she carries it back into the sunroom.

Finnick looks grateful when she puts it over his shoulders, and another blanket over his knees.

Then she sinks with relief onto the couch, watching Finnick crochet with his feet on her lap, while she rests after a long day.

"Should you be alone here all day, while I'm out? I can arrange for some-"

Finnick shakes his head. "I'd rather," he says. "And I nap a lot."

"Still with the insomnia?" Johanna asks, disappointed.

He lifts his right shoulder, the one that's not leaning against the couch. "Not so bad. Not restless any more. I just never sleep very well..." He pauses, breathless, then finishes, "At night. I don't mind. Not much else I'm up for, anyway."

Johanna grits her teeth. Finnick the war hero, Finnick the larger than life, Finnick the ever on the move, not up for more than lying in bed or on the couch.

She does wonder if he's chosen the couch as his spot because he's heard about her father and the chair she always remembers him in during his last years. Or maybe Finnick just needs the space for his legs. No one in her family was ever six foot two.

She doesn't ask. He may not be her father, or his substitute, but the echoes are there.


	5. Chapter 5

Peeta knocks on Katniss's door, curious why she sent for him. They haven't exactly been avoiding each other, but they haven't been seeking each other out, either.

There's an awkward silence when she opens the door, and then she gets straight to the point. "I got a box in the mail. It was addressed to both of us, and I thought we should open it together."

Now Peeta is even more curious. "Who's it from?"

In answer, Katniss just points to the box sitting on the floor beside the door. It's good-sized but not huge, and surprisingly light when Peeta picks it up to read the return address. "Finnick Odair? North Panem?" He looks up at Katniss. "Have you been in touch?"

She shakes her head, looking as bewildered as he feels. "I haven't heard from him since the final Hunger Games. I wasn't even sure he was still alive. And now this."

"I guess we should open it, then."

He holds the box while Katniss knifes open the tape sealing the edges. Then she pulls out a folded blanket. It's made of thick white yarn, as soft as anything Peeta's ever felt. When they unfold it, they see a border on the edge made of trailing green vines and orange pumpkins. It takes the two of them to open it fully. "It's huge," Katniss marvels.

Peeta peers inside the box. "Look, there's an envelope at the bottom."

"You read," says Katniss. She clutches the blanket to her.

_Belated wedding gift. This was the only orange and green design I could make that didn't look terrible._

_I should have written sooner, but this hasn't been easy to do. I'm writing to let you know that the nerve gas we all breathed in the arena is still affecting me. The water took care of my skin—which I have you to thank for—but not my lungs. I took the worst of it, so I'm hoping you two will escape the long-term effects. But if you've been noticing any breathing problems, you should get yourselves checked out. It can be fatal._

_Reading back, I realize I didn't say it. It's not fair to leave you wondering, so here goes: I'm dying. I have maybe a year left. Anything more would just be dragging it out. Not many people know._

_I appreciate that you may want to come say goodbye, but I'm not looking for company. It's gotten bad enough that I'm too out of breath to have a conversation. I can't get out more than a couple words at a time._

_But I wanted you to have this. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for your wedding, and I'm sorry I won't be there for your children._

"So we kill him," Katniss says slowly in disbelief, "and he sends us a wedding gift? That he made himself, apparently. Is he trying to see if we can feel shame?"

Peeta shakes his head. That's Katniss, always reading a hidden message into everything, usually one that means anyone being nice to her has an ulterior motive.

"Look, I was reaped, and you volunteered to protect your sister. Then you were reaped, and I volunteered to protect you. I think he knows who the real enemy is."

"But we never even apologized."

"I tried apologizing, more than once. I don't think that's what he wants."

"I never knew what he wanted. I never understood the first thing about him."

"One thing I know he wanted was your friendship. He always thought highly of you, and you have to admit he was always reaching out."

Katniss just shakes her head, not in disagreement but in bafflement. She reaches for the letter, looking for some clue to its writer's mind.

"What's that?" Peeta asks, catching a glimpse of something on the other side of the paper.

She turns it over. The message on the back is written in a different hand.

_Fuck you all. -J_

"Johanna."

Peeta nods. "She must be with him, then. I guess that's good." He hesitates, and when Katniss doesn't say anything, he approaches the elephant in the room. "So you never told him that we're, uh-" _Don't be a coward, Peeta._ "Divorced?"

"No!" Katniss explodes. "Why would I tell him a thing like that? After what he did? I never even know what to say to him, and now he's dying of it. But I'm going to have to go say goodbye in person. Try to figure out how to say thank you."

Peeta looks at her in confusion. "But he specifically said..."

Katniss has her arms folded across her chest. "Well, I won't make him talk. But he can at least hear a thank you before he dies. You coming?"

"With Delly? You know I can't, Katniss."

"Right, sorry." Katniss avoids meeting his eyes and looks down at the blanket in her arms instead. "So what do we do with this?"

"You keep it," Peeta tells her. "You're the one he cared for. He used to follow you with his eyes, and come talk to me about you."

"Well, he should have been less of an asshole about it," Katniss mutters. "Anyway, I'm going."

* * *

Finnick's tidying up the kitchen after breakfast one morning when the doorbell rings. Johanna's sleeping late, so he hastens to answer it before it wakes her up.

He stands in the doorway staring in confusion at Katniss. She looks as uncomfortable as he's ever seen her. Finally he raises his eyebrows in resignation and steps aside, inviting her in. She follows him to the living room, where he takes the armchair.

Finnick just sits and waits for an explanation. Stammering at first, Katniss starts giving it to him. "Peeta said I shouldn't come, and you probably agree. But I never did anything for you, because I could never think of anything to do."

He'd tried telling her he didn't want a grand gesture to match his or Mags' sacrifices, that he knew it was impossible. What he wanted was the little day-to-day things that make up a relationship between two people. But she could never believe that, and it's too late to explain again. Finnick's silent, letting her continue.

"But when I got your letter, I thought, I volunteered for Prim. Because I loved her and I couldn't bear to watch her die. That's one reason I could never make sense of what you did, no matter how much you talked about the cause. But no matter why, I kept thinking what I would want, if I came home-" Here she hesitates. "In your condition."

Finnick doesn't mince words. "Dying."

Just as Katniss flinches, a noise makes them both look up suddenly. It's the thump of feet coming down the hall, soon joined by Johanna's voice. "I heard the doorbell ring, and I refused to believe my own ears until I saw it-"

Johanna, wrapped in a house robe, appears in the sitting room. "It is! It's you. You had the absolute balls to come here and insist on him making you feel better." She looks around. "Where's Damsel in Distress, too afraid of me?'

Finnick raises a hand to get her attention.

Johanna turns toward him. "I thought you were done making other people feel better!"

Finnick nods definitively and gestures for her to join them, sit down, and let him handle this.

Seething, Johanna does two of those things. She walks over to him and hovers protectively beside his chair, glaring at Katniss but not saying anything.

A look from Finnick prompts Katniss to continue her explanation. "Well, I thought, if it was me and Prim, the one thing I'd want would be to know that it was worth it. I'd want to see her having a good life, or at least a life. So I thought I'd come here and tell you the news, how Peeta and I are doing. I'll do all the talking, and after that...you decide."

Wordlessly, Finnick grants permission. Johanna puts her hand on his far shoulder, a public statement of where she stands.

Katniss talks about her life, her sister and mother, Peeta, the marriage, and the rebuilding efforts. Finnick finds himself less interested in the glimpses of logistics that he catches in her news, except to be glad that someone else is doing the rebuilding and having some success with it. Just the thought of it makes him tired.

What makes him glad is hearing about their wedding, and the house, and the bed where she spread the blanket he made them. Prim is engaged and talking about kids, so Katniss is likely to be an aunt soon. She carefully avoids talking about her own future with or without children, and Finnick doesn't ask.

He doesn't ask anything, just listens. When she winds down, the room is silent, while Finnick thinks. Finally, he speaks.

"Katniss?"

Katniss lifts her chin slightly, looking intently at him.

"Pay it forward."

She swallows, and nods. "Yes, okay. I'll try."

"Not the dying part," he clarifies, with a flash of his old humor.

Katniss isn't sure if she's supposed to laugh at this, so he just gets a wavery smile. "I'll try," she repeats.

That's the best he can do. He's done trying to mentor her through her guilt and devastation. She'll either figure it out without him, or she won't. She's twenty-four, and she's shown some maturity in saying this much to him. She just needs more time, time that he doesn't have to give.

So he turns to the woman who reached back when he reached out. "Johanna?"

"Yes!" Finnick smiles at the way she involuntarily jumps to attention, eager for something to do.

"Inn?"

"Show her to the inn?" Johanna expands. "My pleasure," she says with relish, getting to kick Katniss out. "Come on, we're going."

She's back in record time, sitting on the arm of his chair and studying his face closely. "You okay? Did she dump all her emotions on you?"

"Fine," Finnick says. "And no. Reminds me of you."

He thinks they don't get along for the same reason he and Elspa don't: so much alike they're practically the same person, just enough differences to make them want to claw each other's eyes out. Not that he'd ever say this where either of them could hear.

"Yeah? Tell me this, then. Who does Katniss care about? Her baby sister. Rue, who reminded her of her baby sister. Wiress, gone batty. Mags, limping and signing. Peeta the pathetic. Who did she hate and fear? You, me, actual competitors. When does she warm up to you? When you're like this. She only likes you if you're weak."

Wiress the genius, Mags the strategist, Prim the field medic...Finnick thinks she's underestimating all of them.

"I'll have you know I decided you were all right when you were saving fifty lives a minute in fifty different ways and making it look easy."

"I'm sorry I can't stick around." If he could do it at all, he would do it for Johanna, but he can't. "I wish you'd get to know her."

"Tell you what. If I need someone to take care of me, I'll go look her up. Until then, someone's going to have to like me tough as nails."

Finnick just has to hope, for Johanna's sake, that her back pain doesn't land her in Katniss's life sooner than she'd like. But he remembers Katniss's hands in Wiress's hair, and he knows that if the worst happens, at least Johanna will be in good hands. And he really is convinced they'd get along if they'd relax and stop taking every single thing as a personal attack.

Remembering Katniss and Wiress, he remembers Peeta helping him pull Katniss and Johanna apart. He's tried to help Johanna find a world that isn't attacking her all the time, maybe Peeta can do the same for Katniss. Maybe in ten years she and Johanna can be friends without Johanna needing to be incapacitated.

He wonders how Peeta's doing. Katniss was oddly specific about some details, vague about others. Well, it's hard to have a one-sided conversation.

Not many days later, Finnick is ripping open a thick envelope in hopes of satisfying his curiosity.

 _I'm sorry about Katniss,_ the message from Peeta begins. _I tried talking her out of it, but..._

A sketch follows, in black ink.

_This is Katniss's stubborn face._

Finnick laughs shallowly, then coughs. It is. It's her stubborn face exactly. Grinning, he reads on.

_I'd like to think I would have respected your wishes anyway, but I couldn't come. My wife is expecting our first._

My wife?

_I don't know what Katniss told you, but she decided she was too young and under too much pressure for it to work. I thought I'd be more heartbroken, and I was at first, but then I realized how exhausting it was trying to make it work for all those years. I'll admire her as long as I live, but maybe she was right, living together wasn't as easy as I'd thought it would be._

Finnick stops reading and stares at the spot where Katniss had sat across from him and lied by omission. More guilt, he can guess. That he died saving Peeta for her, and then she decided Peeta wasn't the one after all.

Finnick's first, instinctive reaction is a surge of blind fury at the wastefulness of Mags' death.

Then reason kicks in. He's not with Annie any more either. But her being happy with Cashmere is one of the best things that's ever happened to him. He doesn't think either Mags or Donn would grudge it. 

Telling himself this, Finnick reads on.

_I did find someone else. I don't think you ever met her or that her name would mean anything to you, but we've known each other forever._

Another sketch follows, this one in watercolors. Finnick sees a blonde, chubby young woman smiling out of the page at him.

_She's open and friendly, not at all intimidating, likes people, likes cooking with me, wants kids too...Maybe more like me._

Finnick smiles. _Sounds like Annie._ Peeta had always reminded him of Annie. And Katniss more of himself and Johanna.

He's glad for Peeta, and he hopes Katniss has or finds a confidant. Maybe her sister? Once upon a time, he would have liked to have filled that role. But now she doesn't even feel she can tell him that her relationship ended. She sat here and told him all about how she got married and the house they lived in and all the little details, without the slightest hint anything had changed.

 _You could have told me._ No doubt it was her way of being kind. But he still prefers Peeta's approach.

Flipping through the rest of the stack of papers, Finnick sees sketch after sketch. Some in color, some in black ink or pencil. Some with lavish detail, others mere outlines. He smiles at one of them sharing a plate of muffins and remembers dating Annie.

Coming up beside him, Johanna plucks the paper he's holding out of his hand. "Peeta?" she asks rhetorically, with a curl of her lip. " _She_ looks well fed. Did she miss the memo about the famine?"

"Thirteen," Finnick says. If Peeta knew her forever, then she's from Twelve. And thus one of the refugees in Thirteen. "Dibs, foreign aid."

"How convenient," Johanna says, then picks up another sketch and snorts.

"District Seven?" Finnick prods. "Trains?"

Johanna splutters, forced to admit that he wouldn't even be here if her district hadn't seized all the food it could get its hands on.

Finnick gestures at him and her. "Eating enough."

"No," Johanna says firmly. "You're not. Not even close."

With shaking hands, Finnick sets down the paper he's holding. So that's what this is about. Eating is more tiring for him with each passing day. He can't breathe and eat at the same time. He doesn't need to exert himself any more. So he eats—or more often sips enough soup—to take the edge off his hunger, and leaves it at that.

Maybe he's lost enough weight for it to be noticeable. Finnick doesn't know; he tries not to look in mirrors these days. And even if Johanna's given her promise not to fight him on his decision to die in peace, she's too much Johanna to be able to resist entirely. 

Suddenly tired, Finnick leans his head against her arm. He can't mentor Katniss, and he can't try to keep the peace between Johanna and anyone else. All he can do is try to take some personal comfort in her protectiveness. Her arm slides around his shoulders, and he closes his eyes.

Later that night, when Johanna is sleeping and Finnick can't, he writes a thank you note back to Peeta.

_I'm returning the sketches, but please don't think I didn't appreciate them. They'll only be burned here after I die. Let your children have them._

* * *

Johanna wakes up to an empty bed with her heart pounding. Finnick _never_ gets up in the middle of the night unless she's having a flare-up.

She follows the sound of his labored breathing to the bathroom. The light isn't on, and she jumps when her foot makes contact with flesh in the dark. When he doesn't react, she freaks out and hits the light as fast as she can, then stands there blinking, trying to assess the situation.

Finnick's sitting with his back pressed to the wall by the door, huddled up with his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them. In his nightshirt, too thin, he looks more vulnerable than she's seen him since he ran screaming Annie's name at a flock of jabberjays eight years ago.

Finnick stares, unresponsive, at the white tiled bathroom floor. Johanna knows the signs of him trying to get an attack under control, so she doesn't pester him with questions he can't answer. There's nothing he'd let a doctor do even if she found him one.

For lack of anything better to do, Johanna takes a toothbrush from one of the glasses by the sink and runs some water.

Then she sits down on the floor beside him, rubbing her hand on his shoulder in their old, familiar way.

Finnick just shakes his head slightly when she holds out the glass, and she sets it on the floor. He's so focused that nothing's getting through.

When the time he usually takes to recover from an attack has passed, Johanna slides an arm across his back. His breathing is still something he has to concentrate on, but it's regular again. She knows he has sheer willpower to thank for that.

"Come back to bed, love?" She catches her breath briefly at the word that slipped out, but he doesn't react even to that.

Just that faint headshake again. Something else is wrong, not just the usual attacks. And given the timing, Johanna has a good guess.

She gets up again, and returns with a blanket and pillow. The pillow she tucks behind his back, and the blanket she wraps around him. "Nightmare?" she asks, slipping under the blanket beside him. He still hasn't moved, still huddling on the floor where she found him.

One jerk in the direction of a nod.

"Living room, then?" Johanna suggests. "I can light a fire."

It takes him some time to come back to himself, but eventually he accepts the offer.

Seated on the armchair, Finnick makes a gesture that Johanna recognizes, and she gets up to pass him his writing desk and a pen. He resorts to this when he wants to say something complicated, something that she can't guess from single words and half-sentences well spaced out.

_I was in the arena. Mags was dying, and I couldn't breathe. Katniss and Peeta were dunking me in the water, trying to help. But I was drowning, and I couldn't breathe. Then suddenly I was in the Capitol, being dunked. It was Snow's men torturing me, trying to get me to talk. I was trying to talk, to tell him anything to make it stop, but I couldn't get words out._

_For me to feel that much fear in the water..._

Johanna sits on the edge of the chair beside him. "Would a hot bath help or hurt?"

Finnick makes an indecisive face. Then he opens his mouth to say something, swallows, tries again, and the fear in his eyes intensifies as he moves his lips and tongue but nothing comes out. Johanna's heart immediately leaps in fear that this is it, this is the fatal episode of not being able to breathe, but when her brain catches up, she realizes that his breathing is "normal."

He's trapped in reliving that nightmare, and Johanna doesn't know how to get him out. And the harder he tries, the more distressed he grows.

"No, no, sshh. Don't try to talk. It'll come back. Just wait it out."

His powers of speech don't come back that night, or he's too afraid to try, but the panic does eventually fade from his face. Finnick's perfectly still for a few moments, then Johanna jumps when his writing desk goes flying toward the window. The window holds, but the back of the desk cracks off.

"Finally!" Johanna cackles. He's been too patient through all this.

But he pays the price a minute later, putting a hand over his chest while he struggles not to let his outburst trigger another episode, this one purely physical.

Then he goes back to pretending nothing is wrong. Johanna seethes, because for a moment that was her Finnick, the best fighter she's ever known.

But this is her Finnick too, she has to remind herself, the strategist who can put a mask on over any of his feelings, if it means getting on with the mission.

He writes another message at dawn, leaning on a tray she brought from the kitchen. This one is longer. Johanna doesn't watch over his shoulder, letting him write draft after draft until he's satisfied. He crumples up the rejected drafts and tosses them across the room into the fireplace. Johanna returns his triumphant smile when the last one lands. His aim is still true.

Then he lets her read.

_Annie,_

_I'm writing to ask a favor. Johanna and I are more or less going to be stuck in the house for the winter, and food is becoming a problem. Not the amount, but the quality. I'm tired of toast and tessera mush. So I'm looking for recipes. Some things to keep in mind:_

_1\. Cooking's a hassle. The simpler, the better._  
_2\. There's not a lot of fresh fruit in the winter here. We're stocked up on veggies, though._  
_3\. One of us is having trouble with anything that calls for breathing and a lot of chewing at the same time. Johanna tells me I can't keep living on broth._

_Ideas?_

_Lots of love,_  
_Finnick_

_P.S. Send letters, tell me how the kids are doing. Send pictures!_  
_P.P.S. Give our honeybee a good hug from me._

* * *

The mail is slow up here, but in time, a bundle of papers arrives. Some make Finnick smile inwardly about Annie's idea of "simple," but others will be very helpful.

Not long after, boxes start arriving. When Finnick opens the first one, he exclaims, "Care packages!"

She's sending jars, cans, and boxes of prepared food, of the sort that isn't readily available here.

"Must be nice to live in civilization," Johanna says, but her words have no bite to them.

Finnick remembers gorging in the Capitol, throwing up, and wishing he could send food home to Annie. They didn't do boxes and cans, they did elaborate banquets and private chefs. Now Annie's sending him food.

It helps, though she's still underestimating his difficulties eating. At least it's working for Johanna. And the sauces and spices help with the monotony of his diet. Pounding potatoes is getting more and more tiring, though he hasn't admitted it yet.

He's sitting one day, finishing up a shawl, when a knock comes at the door. Johanna narrows her eyes and goes to answer it.

Finnick stares, stunned, at Annie, pushing inside past Johanna and pulling a giant suitcase behind her. She doesn't look at either Finnick or Johanna as she says briskly, "I've only got a couple days before I have to go back, but I brought some things I didn't want to trust to the mail, and I can show you how to make any of the recipes I sent, if you have questions. And I can give you a couple of days of food made by someone who does like cooking."

Johanna stands blocking the entrance to the sunroom. "Do I need to kick her out?" she offers, looking back and forth between Annie and Finnick.

Finnick shakes his head firmly and holds out his arms to Annie. "All this way?" he asks with a tender smile.

Annie looks at him then, walking past Johanna as though she doesn't exist. "Well. I still don't like traveling. But it won't be the hardest thing I've ever done."

Finnick understands. She gives him a brief, impersonal hug, and then she hesitates.

Finnick catches Johanna's eye. "Guest room?"

With a sigh, Johanna nods, and heads down the hall to fix one up for Annie, leaving them alone together for a few minutes.

Annie looks Finnick up and down, not bothering to hide her scrutiny, and in return he doesn't hide how tired he is. He's done acting.

When she's seen what she was looking for, Annie nods to herself and opens her suitcase. A couple of parcels go into the kitchen, and the rest she takes with her when Johanna comes down to show her her room.

Then it's Johanna and Finnick alone, exchanging a look. Finnick's says, _I'm fine with this, please tolerate it for me,_ and Johanna's, _All right, but don't forget you're my mission._

Finnick eats well. When he first makes a skeptical noise at the amount of chewing in this lentil, meat, and vegetable concoction Annie is making, Annie laughs. "Don't worry, I've got it covered."

She breaks out a device from her parcel that she calls a blender, and it minces his portion so finely that it barely has to be chewed. "You won't get to enjoy the separate tastes, but you'll get the nutrition, and it still tastes decent. Cashmere and I experimented before I brought the blender. She approved."

The other parcel turns out to be an electric pot, which she shows them how to use. They can do the minimum amount of preparation, throw the ingredients in, and come back a few hours later. "It's a wonderful labor-saving device. I like to cook, but I don't love it, and between my job and my family and all my home improvements, I don't always have the time. I'll throw in the ingredients in the morning, leave it simmering all day, and we'll have a good supper when I get home. 

"I'm so busy I hardly even have time for woodworking any more! I was hoping to improve my carving skills, but I guess that was a good hobby for when I had nothing to do all day in the Victors' Village. Now my days are too full—all with good things, I might add."

Finnick smiles. "News?"

So Annie gives him all the news. Cashmere put in the vegetable garden she's been talking about, so now they have more tomatoes and basil than they know what to do with. She might try squash next, but not until next year. It's too late for this fall. "I see you guys already have piles of snow."

Maggie's started school, and Evan's running around and talking.

Finnick determinedly considers it a pleasant dinner, ignoring the fact that Johanna hasn't said a word since offering to kick Annie out. She's not angry that Annie's here, so much as angry that Finnick is dying, that he's still in love with Annie and had to let her go, that she feels so helpless, and that having Annie here reminds her of all those things.

Finnick takes Johanna's hand after dinner and smiles at her, communicating, _It's all right, I'm enjoying what I can, and right now that means Annie._

After doing the dishes, Annie excuses herself early. She's traveled a long way. Finnick comes with her to say good night. He knows she's pushing herself through a list of things she wants to do here, that she'll return home, and then she'll crash, and Cashmere will take care of her while she recovers. He doesn't insult her by suggesting she take it easy. She wouldn't have come here unless she was very sure this is what she wants to do.

"You're content here with Johanna?" Annie asks, just checking on him.

Finnick nods.

"She's good for you?"

Again.

"Good."

"Thank you," he says, and hugs her. Then he's gone.

Later that night, when he can't sleep, he hears her crying quietly in the room next door. It might be grief over seeing the shell of the man she used to be married to, or it might be the trip catching up with her.

Either way, he doesn't go to her.

_She wants to be alone. Or if she doesn't, she wants Cashmere, not me. I don't know. I'm too tired._

Johanna had asked him if he wants to spend the night with Annie, and just as definitely as he had said he wanted Annie to stay, he shook his head. Johanna believed him, because he's not pretending any more.

As promised, Annie leaves after only two days of good food and training in the equipment she brought. Finnick lets her go with just a quiver of regret. He wants to say, _I love you,_ as she's leaving, but he doesn't want to make her feel bad that she doesn't any more. So he hesitates, and the moment stretches out into an eternity as she walks out. Then the door closes, and his chance is gone.

Finnick spends the winter in his spot on the couch. He rarely leaves it now. Johanna takes over the cooking, and she brings him food in the sunroom.

Finnick forces himself to eat whatever she makes, because he appreciates the effort she and Annie have gone to to keep him fed, but even with Johanna blending his dinners into a pudding, the dance of spoon-swallow-breathe, spoon-swallow-cough is too tedious to keep up for very long. Broth is still easier, and thanks to Annie's spices, the broth can at least be interesting.

Besides, it's not like he's training for combat.

More interesting than food is looking out the window. Some of the overgrowth in the Village has been cleared up, but it's still very rural, and there's plenty to see. Even after most of the animals have migrated for the winter or gone into hibernation, he can watch the ones that have stuck around. Unfazed, the squirrels scamper around digging up their caches, and he smiles at their antics. Sometimes he tries to be awake in the afternoon, when they come out to forage in the winter sun.

Even when there are no animals in sight, the changeable weather is never boring. He can spend hours watching the snow fall. Large flakes, small flakes, flakes racing to the ground, flakes dancing in the air and drifting up and to the side and every which way on their journey to the earth. They coat the trees sometimes inches thick, but a breeze can suddenly turn a white branch green again. The long, slow northern twilights are like nothing else. 

Sitting inside the warm house with Johanna beside him while a storm rages makes him feel safer than he's ever felt. The worse the storm, the greater the contrast and the greater his pleasure.

Johanna lights fires when her back lets her, and turns up the central heating when it doesn't. Finnick leaves all the curtains drawn at all times. 

Watching the weather entertains him more and more as knitting leaves him wearier and wearier. Johanna lets him see her wearing the red shawl he made her around the house, but it's taking him all his strength to finish the scarf he's working on. He pauses after every row to look out the window.

Even the fog doesn't bother him now, because it shrouds a well-loved landscape. If he sometimes sees a shadow of Mags in it...well, it's like Johanna once said. Ghosts follow people, not houses.

 _Oh, Johanna._ She'll have one more ghost soon. That she hasn't raged more on the subject is a testament to her willingness to do anything for him, even keep a clamp on her all-consuming passion to keep him alive. She'll let him go in dignity and peace if it's what he wants.

Sometimes he fingers the pill in his pocket. More rarely, he takes it out to look at. So far, he's always put it back again. But the day will come when he doesn't.

* * *

Finnick knows Johanna's holding back when she wants to fight, and he's sorry for that. He tries to tell her he never wanted that, but she tells him to shut up and be selfish for once in his life. 

Finnick has to end that conversation while he can still keep the tears from choking him.

She's having to hold back, and he's having to pretend more than he wants. He really is tired enough to feel some relief at not having to fight. But has to admit he's drawing on that tiredness to achieve his goals: numb his fear, avoid triggering attacks. It's the same strategy he used as a playboy, channeling his enjoyment to mask the desperation. Both are real, but acting is when he pretends only one is.

_I guess it's true...I don't even know when I'm acting._

He wishes he could stay and see Cashmere find her way out of that trap, but he trusts Annie more than anyone to go on that journey with her.

But he does wish he could hold her one more time.

The thought stays with him, and it grows with the passing of time. Even in his current state, Finnick thinks he might be able to handle having her here. 

Not until spring does he act on this thought, though. One morning, he shows Johanna a letter he wrote in the dark hours, while she was sleeping.

_To Cashmere and Annie with love always,_

_Since I'm sworn to spending my last days asking for what I want, I'm writing to ask if Cashmere would like to come for a visit. Only for a few days._

_If you're needed at home, or it would be too devastating, you know I'll understand._

_Annie, I think you'll understand why I'm only asking for Cashmere. It's not just that you don't like traveling, or that it would be hard to bring the kids or leave them there if you both came, or that I saw you last year and haven't seen her in two. It's that I want nothing more than to talk to you for hours, the way we always did, and I'm afraid it would be frustrating if you were here and I couldn't. And I'm too far gone to take much advantage of your excellent cooking._

_But Cashmere and I have always said more with touch than with words, and that I can still do...and enjoy._

_Finnick._

_P.S. I saw in your last set of pictures that Maggie was standing in the back row with her tall classmates. I've told the Mags in my head, and she was very amused. She may also have poked me with her cane for making fun of her, not sure._

_P.P.S. She sends her love too. I'm authorized to speak for her, as much as I was when it was the stroke keeping her from speaking for herself._

Finnick gives Johanna a questioning look, asking if she minds him inviting Cashmere.

"Sure," she says. Her voice is unusually thick.

When a knock at their door turns out to be Cashmere, Johanna lets her in, and then starts pulling on her boots. "I'm going to go...chop some wood."

Finnick, picturing the full woodbin, says nothing. He just lifts his face to Cashmere, the old happiness filling him.

"Honeybee," is the only word Finnick has the breath to croon into Cashmere's ear, when they fold gratefully into each other's arms. _Sweetheart, wonderful, loyal, precious angel, the only sunshine in my life_...He knows she can hear these things in his hands curving over her damp cheek, her golden hair, and the strong lines of her back.

Finnick basks in the closeness. He'd thought he'd known how much he missed this, but now he realizes he was tamping that down just like everything else he missed and is going to miss. He has to, just to get through each day, knowing he doesn't have many days left.

But today, it doesn't hurt. Something about Cashmere's body pressed against his has the same magic it always did, to alleviate the worst life has to throw at him. He remembers the first time he held her for his own comfort, with the arena just behind them, Mags newly dead, and Annie hunted, her fate unknown. Even that pain receded in the face of the precious gift of Cashmere's trust, enough that they could both breathe.

Not wanting to break the spell, Finnick doesn't ask for news. He kisses her tears, not holding back his own, and twines his fingers through her hair. The thought of stroking it is too tiring, but he lets himself hold it.

Then he realizes it's golden more in his memory than in reality. Her once blonde hair is both fading and darkening, and even silvering in places. Finnick finds himself smiling. He's glad she's made it this far, not only past eighteen, but into this new life that's so much better than her old one.

She's stronger than he is now, and he lets himself accept the comfort of that, too. When he hears the front door open, he lifts his head slowly, to realize that he had dozed off in Cashmere's arms.

"Snuggle bunny," she whispers in his ear, too softly for Johanna to hear, and Finnick smiles.

Johanna joins them on the couch at an inviting look from Finnick. He sits contentedly between them, letting himself not worry about what they think of each other. He's glad to have both of them.

"I made up the guest room last night," Johanna says after a long silence. "There's not much to do around here."

Finnick makes a noncomittal sound. "Hot pools," he points out.

"I suppose," Johanna says with ill grace. Then looks closer at his face in disbelief. "What, you want to go?"

Finnick shrugs, and smiles. He didn't want to, hasn't felt like leaving the house in weeks, and it's probably foolish, but Cashmere's arrival was like a breath of fresh air after the long winter. Suddenly, he wants to do something with his body again.

Before they leave, Finnick points Cashmere in the direction of the shelf where he stores his unfinished knitted goods. Or, in this case, one he finished but hasn't been able to give away yet.

Cashmere brings him the parcel. It's wrapped in an old, thin tablecloth, to keep the dust off. Finnick unwraps the long pink scarf he'd made over the winter, winds it around Cashmere's throat, and smiles.

She touches it in surprise, and leans forward to hug him again. He gets just a glimpse of her eyes filling with tears. "Finnick."

She wears the scarf on the way to the pool. It's a long way, and Finnick has to stop and rest often. The trails aren't entirely empty, and he's not the only one wanting to stretch his legs after being cooped up. He gets a few curious looks, but people around here respect his privacy. Though no one knows the details, it's an open secret that his health isn't great. Let them fill in the blanks and figure out the war must have taken its toll.

He leans on Cashmere heavily, and he finds himself exulting in her strength as though it's his own. _I chose well, in my life. Mags. Annie. Cashmere. Johanna. I've done well._

At the pool, he doesn't have the strength to do more than lie on the shore, and maybe let himself float a little from time to time, but Johanna tucks their sweaters into a soft, if lumpy, pillow for him, and he's comfortable enough.

Cashmere doesn't want to leave his side, but Finnick nudges her into the water. This may be the last gift he'll be able to give her, and he wants to leave her with this memory of blissful water in the brisk air.

Admiring Cashmere as she surfaces and dives with the grace of a dolphin, Finnick wishes he never had to let her go. Then a tiny thought tickles the back of his mind: maybe he doesn't. There's one way to keep her in his arms for the rest of his life. But he shies away from that image, not ready yet, and turns his attention instead to the blue sky above.

Heavy, cottony clouds drift across, while Finnick studies them. He's trying to make one look like a fish, when one strikes him as a trident. Silently, he salutes it with two fingers to his forehead, amused at his sentiment.

It's the best afternoon Finnick's had in a long time. Enough that he starts thinking about asking Cashmere to extend her stay. Johanna's been nothing but wonderful, his mainstay when she needed one herself, but he's never been able to love only one person.

Finnick doesn't want it to end, but as with everything, there comes a moment when he's sated, and ready to move on. He shifts up into a sitting position.

"Ready to head back?" Johanna asks immediately. She's always the one checking on him, making sure his needs are met, taking the initiative. Cashmere, he can sense, is like him. She wants this not to end badly enough that she'll wait for someone else to make the first move.

Finnick is silent a while. Then he smiles apologetically at Johanna. "Do I have to?" he asks.

Johanna's eyes go wide. She takes in the water, the mountains, herself, and Cashmere. And the water again.

"Did you plan this?" she demands. She keeps her voice steady, but it's higher pitched than normal.

He shakes his head. He truly hadn't. But the journey back is daunting. Cashmere's here. And the water.

Cashmere joins the conversation belatedly, swimming up to them at the edge. "What, here, now?!"

Finnick looks at Johanna, asking. He'll be leaving her with the cleanup. But will it really be any easier on her if he dies at home in their bed?

"Well, can you think of a better place?" Johanna snarls at Cashmere. "All right."

She fetches his pills from the clothes he left piled up on the ground.

Finnick spreads open his palm, showing Cashmere. He's sorry to spring this on her so soon after she arrived, but he needs all the help he can get to go through with this.

"Okay," she says unsteadily, accepting it.

Cashmere knows without asking what he wants from her, and she lies down beside him on the shore, warm in his arms and half enveloped by the water. Now he can hold her forever, just like he wanted. Johanna's on his other side, hand on his shoulder.

It's still not quite enough for him to let go, so he does the only thing he can think of, to bring his hand to his mouth.

_Mags? Mags. Where are you? I know I'm late, but I'm coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right. I wrote a 400,000-word AU just so I could...also kill Finnick. *hides*
> 
> Fortunately for you, I can't handle this ending either, so the Mags-verse ends here, and all further work will be done in a "Finnick lives" AU. "Mags' Heir" is the alternate ending, which I strongly recommend you check out, especially if you hate me right now.


End file.
